


if you remembered me

by nightswatch



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-19
Updated: 2013-12-17
Packaged: 2017-12-29 21:25:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 40,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1010285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightswatch/pseuds/nightswatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras suffers from temporary amnesia after a car accident, Grantaire agrees to stay with him until he gets back his memories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Grantaire?” Someone was banging on his door. Whoever it was, Grantaire hated them. “Grantaire, wake up.” Sounded like Courfeyrac. And yeah, he was awake, but there was no way in hell he’d get up. It was dark and he was pretty sure that he’d only gone to bed about an hour ago.

“Grantaire, for fuck’s sake, get your goddamned ass out of bed.” That was Jehan. A very, very angry Jehan. Okay, there was no messing with Jehan.

Grantaire groaned, untangled himself from his sheets and padded to the door. He found Courfeyrac and Jehan on his doorstep. They both looked like they’d fallen out of bed and sleepwalked over to Grantaire’s, Courfeyrac was wearing one of Jehan’s huge jumpers, Jehan was still wearing pyjama bottoms with little bunnies on them.

“What?” Grantaire asked, his voice still rough from sleeping.

“Why the hell aren’t you answering your phone?” Jehan yelled and shoved him, not all too gently.

Grantaire blinked rapidly. He didn’t even know where exactly his phone was, it was Saturday night and he’d tried to enjoy one fucking day without any obligations. Had he forgotten something? Maybe. Wouldn’t be the first time. “What the hell is going on?”

Courfeyrac wrapped an arm around Jehan. “Enjolras had an accident, we tried to call you, but you didn’t pick up, so we figured we might as well come and tell you.”

Grantaire could hardly process what Courfeyrac had just said to him, he just knew that he’d used the words _Enjolras_ and _accident_ in the same sentence and that was way more than he could deal with right now. “What happened? Is he...” His voice cracked, oh god, he didn’t even want to think about it, he just needed someone to tell him that Enjolras was going to be alright, because it was the only answer he’d accept.

“We don’t know,” Jehan said quietly and pulled him into a hug. “Combeferre called, he’s at the hospital, he’s going to let us know if there’s any news, but that might take a while.”

Grantaire nodded, still not exactly processing what was happening. Jehan’s arms tightened around him, Courfeyrac was watching them, looking lost and maybe a little scared. Grantaire only then noticed that he was crying.

“I have to go there.” He let go of Jehan and grabbed for his keys, wiping the tears from his cheeks.

“Grantaire,” Courfeyrac mumbled, “there’s nothing you can do, even if you’re there. Combeferre will-”

“I’ll drive you,” Jehan interrupted.

They waited for him as he pulled on a pair of dirty jeans and his ratty green hoodie, reminded him to put on shoes when he nearly walked out of his flat with just his socks on. Jehan kept telling him that everything was going to be fine, but Grantaire didn’t believe him. If everything was going to be fine, Combeferre would have called by now, telling them that Enjolras was alright.

Grantaire felt like he was falling and there was no ground, he was just falling down, faster and faster. He thought he was going to be sick, this couldn’t be happening, maybe he was still asleep, maybe he was dreaming, this was a nightmare, a terrible nightmare.

This was his brain getting back at him for behaving like an asshole every time he was around Enjolas, this was a horrible tick his mind was playing on him, it couldn’t be real.

The air was cold, too cold for spring and Grantaire was shivering all the way to the hospital, even though Courfeyrac was hugging him awkwardly, even though he didn’t even feel cold, he was shivering.

* * *

**3 days earlier.**

“Grantaire, if you’re only here to sleep off your hangover, you might as well go,” Enjolras snapped and something landed on the table right next to Grantaire with a loud bang.

Grantaire looked up at Enjolras, who was glaring down at him furiously. Seemed like he wasn’t having a good day then. “I’m not hungover,” Grantaire clarified.

“What are you doing then?” Enjolras said and started taking files out of the cardboard box he’d put on the table. “Taking up space?”

Sure, Grantaire and Enjolras had a history of throwing insults at each other, but they still stung every fucking time. Even more so because Enjolras never seemed to care, no matter what Grantaire said, he just brushed it off and came back with something even more hurtful.

Grantaire kept telling himself that he shouldn’t care, he’d never be anything more than a nuisance to Enjolras, the guy he never managed to agree with and who kept interrupting his meetings, someone to take home on a cold night and to throw out right afterwards because he had work to do. He was nothing to Enjolras. But Enjolras was everything to him.

“Yeah, I suppose that’s exactly what I’m doing,” Grantaire answered cockily.

Combeferre sat down next to Grantaire, smiling pleasantly, and set a cup of coffee in front of Grantaire’s nose. “Here, maybe you’ll manage to stay awake for another hour or two.”

“Thanks, ‘Ferre,” Grantaire muttered, just as Jehan let himself fall into the chair to his right.

“Tell me everything,” Jehan said excitedly, “how was LA, did you sell a lot of paintings, did you meet famous people?”

“Did you fall in love with a hot actress?” Courfeyrac asked from the other end of the table.

Enjolras made a disapproving noise, but turned to Grantaire anyway. “You went to LA?”

A collective groan went around the table, Bossuet was shaking his head, Bahorel buried his face in his hands. “I am speechless,” Courfeyrac said.

“I was gone for over a week,” Grantaire told Enjolras.

“I thought you were...” he trailed off, but it was very clear what exactly Enjolras was thinking. Out partying, drunk, or whatever else Enjolras seemed to think Grantaire did when he didn’t show up at meetings.

Two years ago that might have been right, but after he’d coincidentally managed to sell one of his paintings, and then another, and another, he’d needed to get his shit together. And he’d managed, at least somewhat. His assistant, Eponine, kept telling him that he was the most unreliable client she’d ever had. Eponine was also pretty much the most unreliable assistant on this planet, so they got along marvellously.

Grantaire had changed, he drank less, maybe he smoked more, but all in all he had a better grip on his life than back then, it was just that Enjolras still saw the guy who’d drunkenly rambled during his meetings, not the person he was today.

“Well, obviously that’s what you thought,” Grantaire said angrily. He was sick and tired of Enjolras thinking that he was good for nothing. “But hey, since you think I’m just here to _take up space_ , I might as well go.”

Enjolras didn’t apologise, he never did, it probably was beneath him, watched in silence when Grantaire packed up his belongings and stormed out of the room. Grantaire ignored his friends calling after him.

He walked around the city that night, taking photos, and maybe he’d turn some of those into paintings later. People had started buying his photos as well, although they were hardly special, but he’d be the last one to complain.

Grantaire made a pretty decent amount of money, a fact most of his friends probably weren’t aware of, because Grantaire still lived in the same shithole he’d lived in when he went to art school, he still slept on a mattress on the floor, he still owned an ancient TV and an even more ancient sofa. He’d put all of his money into his studio, a nice, open space, full of art supplies and equipment, a place entirely for his own, where no one except for Eponine had ever been.

* * *

Grantaire snapped back to the then and now when Jehan pulled up next to the hospital. “Thanks for taking me,” he said and squeezed Courfeyrac’s arm. “I’ll keep you updated.”

“We’re going with you,” Jehan said and climbed out of the car.

Courfeyrac took Grantaire by the hand and led him inside. He wasn’t ready for what was waiting for him in there, he didn’t even know what exactly it was, but he was sure it had the potential to destroy him.

Grantaire hated hospitals, the smell and the ugly flooring and the neon lights, the sense of impending doom in the air, the people who sat in uncomfortable chairs, waiting for news, crying, hoping, praying, or whatever it was that they did. He’d be one of those people soon enough.

They found Combeferre in the waiting room, sitting on an orange plastic chair, still as a statue, an untouched cup of coffee on the table in front of him. “What happened?” If he asked that question often enough, Grantaire thought, someone would have an answer for him at some point.

Combeferre was on his feet as soon as he heard his voice and hugged him to his chest. Why was everyone hugging him all of a sudden, they weren’t supposed to know how much he cared about Enjolras. He’d never explicitly said anything to anyone, but their friends seemed to be a lot more observant than he gave them credit for.

“Drunk driver crashed into his car, that’s all I know. They called me because I’m his emergency contact,” Combeferre said, still holding on to Grantaire. Grantaire was starting to think that maybe Combeferre was the one who really needed a hug here. “Joly promised to find out what’s going on, but I haven’t seen him in a while, I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Okay,” Grantaire mumbled and patted Combeferre’s back. “Okay,” he said again, because it was really all he could manage.

When Joly finally returned, Courfeyrac was asleep, draped over a couple of chairs, snoring softly, Jehan was flicking through three-month-old magazines, Grantaire was holding Combeferre’s hand, slowly sipping Combeferre’s cold coffee.

Jehan woke up Courfeyrac with a gentle shove, then they were all crowding around Joly.

“Okay, listen... I talked to his doctor and it looks like he’s going to be fine,” Joly started, then paused when they all let out a sigh of relief. “He didn’t need surgery, but he has a broken arm and he hit his head pretty hard. They won’t know if there’s any brain damage until he wakes up.”

“Brain damage,” Grantaire repeated. He felt like he was going to be sick again.

Joly’s cool fingers curled around his wrist. “There are no indications, but not everything shows on the scans. He’ll probably be just fine, Grantaire.”

“When do you think he’s going to wake up?” Combeferre asked.

“Might be a few hours,” Joly said, scratching his head. “Maybe longer. You can talk to his doctor if you’re willing to wait a little longer, but there’s nothing you can do right now. Just go home, try to get a little sleep, I can let you know when he wakes up, I’ll be here until noon.”

“I’m not going home,” Grantaire said quietly.

Grantaire thought he saw Combeferre smile for a second. “I’ll stay with you.”

“We’ll stay as well, it’s not like we’d get any sleep at home anyway.”

“I’ll keep you updated,” Joly said and turned to leave.

They all resumed their previous positions, only that now Courfeyrac’s head was resting on Jehan’s lap and Jehan didn’t pretend to read magazines anymore. Combeferre ended up slumped against Grantaire’s chest, obviously completely exhausted.

Grantaire didn’t sleep, not for a second. He watched the other people in the waiting room, but he wasn’t really looking, only wondered if he’d be one of the happy ones or one of the sad ones in the morning.

Bahorel joined them at 7:14, at a point where Grantaire had turned to watching the seconds tick by on a clock on the opposite wall. He nodded at Bahorel, but they didn’t talk. He usually loved having a chat with him, he always had good stories to tell, but Grantaire was absolutely out of words.

Musichetta, who was a nurse at the hospital, came by at around 7:30, brought them coffee, but no news.

Joly came for them at 7:47, but he wasn’t smiling, which Grantaire took as a bad sign. “Is he okay?”

Joly nodded and sat down in the chair next to him. Bahorel pinched Courfeyrac, who jerked awake, accidentally hitting against Jehan’s jaw with his head. Grantaire shook Combeferre awake. “’s he awake?” he mumbled, then nodded at Bahorel, whom he’d just seemed to notice.

“He’s awake and he appears to be fine, except for one thing,” Joly explained.

“What thing?” Courfeyrac asked impatiently. Grantaire was glad he wasn’t the one who had to ask the questions

“He has amnesia,” Joly said curtly. “It’s most likely temporary,” he added, “they’ll need to do a couple of tests. If you have questions, and I’m sure you do, you’ll have to talk to his doctor, because I’m not a neurologist and I only know so much.”

“Thanks, Joly,” Combeferre said.

“Can we see him?” Jehan asked, glancing at Joly hopefully.

Joly nodded. “Just... don’t upset him, remember, he doesn’t know any of you, just be patient with him. Maybe I should just take one or two of you for now.”

“Maybe Combeferre should go first and talk to him,” Bahorel suggested, “I mean, you guys are really close.”

“Sure,” Combeferre said slowly. “I’ll come get you guys in a bit.”

Grantaire watched him leave with Joly, then his eyes flickered back to the clock, counting the seconds as they ticked by.


	2. Chapter 2

“Are you sure it’s okay for all of us to go in?” Grantaire asked. He’d changed his mind, he didn’t want to see Enjolras anymore, he’d just freak out and make him nervous.

“He actually asked to see you all,” Combeferre told him, “he says he’s fine.” There was something in his voice that made Grantaire think that Combeferre didn’t actually believe it.

Jehan was the first one to poke his head in through the door, Courfeyrac followed, Grantaire tried to hide behind Bahorel.

“I’ll go talk to his doctor,” Combeferre said to Grantaire, then the door fell shut and Grantaire ignored the impulse to run after Combeferre and away from Enjolras.

Enjolras looked at all of them, smiling uncertainly. There was a bandage around his head, a cast around his right arm, other than that he looked like he always did, perfectly fine, just a little paler than usual. “Hello,” he said, eyes settling on Grantaire.

“Hi, Enjolras.” Jehan took a step towards the bed. “We’re all so glad you’re okay.”

“I guess _okay_ isn’t really the word you were looking for,” Bahorel said dryly.

Courfeyrac elbowed him in the ribs, but Bahorel didn’t even bat an eye. “Can we at least try to pretend that we’re normal people for a couple of minutes?”

“Don’t say that, you’re going to scare him,” Jehan hissed.

“You know that I can hear you, right? My ears are perfectly fine,” Enjolras threw in, eyebrows raised.

“Sorry,” Jehan said quickly. “Well, I guess we should introduce ourselves, right?”

“That would be great, because sadly I don’t remember any of you.” He was looking at Grantaire again, like he was trying to find something, but couldn’t.

“I’m Courfeyrac, we’ve known each other since I spilled coffee over one of your textbooks in our first week at uni.”

Enjolras nodded. “Combeferre mentioned you, we work together, right?”

“We do,” Courfeyrac confirmed. “Marius works with us, too, he’s going to come by later today. But anyway, I think you might have to take a little time off.”

“I suppose that would be the most sensible thing to do,” Enjolras agreed. He still sounded like himself, which was strange and somewhat terrifying. He didn’t even know how scared Enjolras must be right now, but he’d always been one to put on a brave face.

“Okay, me next,” Jehan said and took Courfeyrac’s hand. “I’m Jehan and we basically know each other because of Courfeyrac.”

“You’re together,” Enjolras said matter-of-factly.

“You remember?” Jehan asked hopefully.

“No, but you’re holding hands and... I don’t know, it was just a guess, really.” Enjolras shrugged helplessly, then glanced at Bahorel.

“I’m Bahorel,” he said, shifting his weight. “I just... ended up with you guys at some point.”

Grantaire snorted. “Same goes for me,” he said quickly. He remembered the night he’d met Enjolras in every detail, but there was no need to retell that right now.

“And your name is...?”

“Grantaire,” he muttered, “I’m Grantaire.” Maybe he should tell Enjolras that he actually didn’t usually like Grantaire a whole lot, but Enjolras was smiling at him, which was a bit of a rarity, and Grantaire was determined to enjoy it as long as it lasted.

“So, there’s nothing you remember?” Jehan asked. “Nothing at all?”

“Do you remember what pizza tastes like?” Courfeyrac cut in.

Bahorel and Grantaire groaned, Jehan hit Courfeyrac over the head. “Idiot,” he mumbled.

“Hey, be careful, you don’t want me to lose my memory as well,” Courfeyrac grumbled.

“He has to hit you a lot harder for that,” Enjolras clarified. “And no, I don’t even remember ever eating pizza.”

“Pour soul,” Bahorel mumbled.

“Is there anything we can get you?” Jehan asked.

“Pizza, for example?” Courfeyrac added.

Grantaire was glad that the door opened and Combeferre looked inside, briefly smiled at Enjolras, then beckoned Grantaire to come outside. Grantaire glanced at Enjolras one last time before he stepped outside.

Combeferre was leaning against the wall, watching doctors and nurses bustle past them. Grantaire wondered if he looked as exhausted as Combeferre, hell, he probably looked even worse than him. “What did the doctor say?” Grantaire inquired. “In a language I can understand please.”

“They haven’t done any tests yet, but it looks like he’s lost all of his memories, he doesn’t remember anything, not his childhood or school or, well, us. He still knows general things, which isn’t uncommon apparently and his personality probably hasn’t changed either, but I suppose it’s too soon to tell. It seems like he can remember things he’s told now, he probably remembers everything he’s ever learned, but he doesn’t know that he did. They’re going to keep him here for a couple of days, but it might take a lot longer for him to get his memories back, it’s not an exact science, but it sounded like they were pretty sure he’d recover.”

“How much longer can it take?

“There’s no way of telling,” Combeferre said, tugging his hand through his hair.

 “What if he doesn’t remember, though? What if he never gets his memory back?” God, he needed to get out of here, this was all too much.

Combeferre took a deep breath. “Let’s just hope he will. As I said, apparently patients just spontaneously recover, they just remember what they’ve previously known for no reason.”

“What are we going to do now? I mean, are we supposed to call his parents?” Grantaire knew that Enjolras didn’t have the best relationship with his parents, but they would probably like to know. Not that Enjolras would like them to know. But they couldn’t just leave Enjolras on his own. “Is he supposed to go back to his flat all by himself?”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Combeferre said quietly. “He can’t be on his own, and obviously we need to talk to him about this, but technically you’re the only one of us who... well, who has an adjustable work schedule. He’d hate me forever if I called his parents, he hasn’t talked to them in four years.”

“You want me to babysit Enjolras?” Grantaire asked incredulously. “He doesn’t even like me.”

“He doesn’t know that,” Combeferre retorted. “He’ll probably find out sound enough that you have somewhat clashing personalities.”

“So, you want me to pretend that he doesn’t actually hate my guts?”

“He doesn’t. You know that.” Combeferre pinched the bridge of his nose. “Would you mind staying with him for a couple of days, though? I would, but you know that it’s pretty hard for me to just take a couple of days off. I’ll help you out as much as I can, I promise, everyone will.”

Grantaire couldn’t believe that he was about to agree to this. “Sure, but he’s not going to be happy about it.”

“We’ll see about that.”

* * *

It was dark outside when Combeferre finally admitted defeat and told Grantaire he’d go home to sleep for a couple of hours. Bossuet had come over for a while, Marius and Cosette had paid Enjolras a visit as well. Courfeyrac, Jehan and Bahorel had left with them when Enjolras had fallen asleep and they hadn’t been able to keep their own eyes open any longer.

Grantaire had wanted to go with them at first, but in the end he’d stayed. He’d had things to talk about with Combeferre and now that he had left as well Grantaire didn’t want to leave Enjolras alone. He might wake up, he might have questions and he thought that someone should be around to answer them.

Grantaire fell asleep in his chair shortly after Combeferre had left, but woke up immediately when he heard Enjolras say his name. “Grantaire?”

His eyes fluttered open and he found Enjolras staring at him from his bed. “Yeah?” He scrambled off his chair. “Do you need anything?”

“What time is it?” Enjolras tried to sit up but gave up soon enough.

Grantaire checked his phone. “It’s almost 10. Are you hungry? The nurse left some food, I’m not sure what you think about hospital food, but it’s probably disgusting. I still have half a sandwich, you can have it if you want.”

“I’m not hungry,” Enjolras mumbled, “but thanks.”

“Are you sure?” Grantaire asked. He wished Combeferre was still here, he’d coax Enjolras into eating somehow, he’d know what to do, Combeferre always knew what to do.

Enjolras nodded. “Grantaire, can you... tell me about... me?”

Grantaire leaned against the side of Enjolras’ bed, wondering what to say. He wasn’t quite sure how to explain to someone who they were. People usually just knew. At least to some extent. “I’m not sure if I’m the right person for that, you might want to wait for Combeferre to come back.”

“Oh, of course,” Enjolras muttered. “I’m sorry. We aren’t... close?”

Grantaire sighed. Again, a question he didn’t know how to answer. “Not particularly.”

Enjolras looked almost disappointed. “Why are you still here then?”

“Because I didn’t want to leave you alone,” Grantaire said quickly. “I mean, we’re friends, it’s just... you know, we should talk about that some other time.”

“Fine,” Enjolras grumbled. Combeferre had been right, his personality really hadn’t changed. “Is there anything you can tell me? What do I like?” He moved his feet and patted on his blanket. “Sit down.”

“You like your work,” Grantaire said immediately, climbing up on the bed. Enjolras loved his work, he was devoted to his work. He had his law firm together with Courfeyrac and Marius and he spent a lot more time there than was healthy.

“My work?” Enjolras repeated. “What else?”

“I don’t know, you work a lot. Actually, I’m pretty sure all you ever do is work, until today I didn’t even know if you ever slept,” Grantaire said jokingly.

Enjolras managed something that resembled a grin at that. “So, I’m a workaholic and don’t have a life beside my job?”

“I wouldn’t say that, but you’re definitely very dedicated. You help a lot of people.”

“Anything else?” Enjolras tugged at his blanket. “There must be something else.”

“You like chocolate,” Grantaire said with a shrug. In fact, Enjolras had come to his flat once to pick up flyers Grantaire had made for a rally during their time at university, and when he’d left there’d been a trail of chocolate wrappers all around his flat.

Enjolras nodded encouragingly. “What else?”

“Your favourite colour is red, you have this ridiculous coat, it’s all red and you’ve had it for ages and I’m actually pretty sure you’ve sold your soul to Satan so it won’t fall apart. The only thing you can cook is pasta, you hate reality TV, but I’m convinced that you secretly watch it, you’re not too fond of your parents-”

“Combeferre mentioned that as well,” Enjolras said, “He said he wouldn’t call them unless I’d explicitly ask him to. Do you know why I don’t get along with them?”

“I think your views just... differ... greatly,” Grantaire tried. They’d never actually talked about this, but Grantaire had picked up this and that over the years.

“I see,” Enjolras mumbled, fumbling with his blanket. “Thanks for staying, by the way, this is all really confusing, I’m really not sure how to feel about any of this.”

Grantaire nodded. “No problem.” His eyes darted to Enjolras hands, one was hooked to the IV, the other one was gripping the blanket tightly and Grantaire wondered if he’d mind if Grantaire held it just for a second, if it would make him feel better. It would certainly make Grantaire feel better. “Do you want me to tell you more?”

“I think it’s enough for now,” Enjolras said. “You’re telling me these things and I’m trying to remember them, I’m trying to figure out if that sounds like me, but I don’t have the slightest idea. I don’t know who I am and I’m really glad you’re all trying to help, I just... You know, the doctors explained that it could all come back any minute, but what if it doesn’t?”

Grantaire did take his hand now. He usually wasn’t one to believe in things, he knew that he’d said something similar to Combeferre only hours earlier, but Enjolras really didn’t need his cynicism right now. “It’ll come back.”

“I hope you’re right.” Enjolras squeezed his hand and Grantaire nearly forgot how to breathe for a second. Enjolras cleared his throat. “So, about that sandwich...?”

* * *

“Grantaire, you need to go home.” Eponine was trying to stare him down, and yes, some people would have found her absolutely terrifying, but this was nothing to Grantaire. She’d come to visit Enjolras, even though they barely knew each other, and now she was trying to convince Grantaire to leave. Many had tried before her, they’d all failed.

“I have. Multiple times during the last couple of days. I even slept for a couple of hours, does that make you happy?”

“It does, but you still look like you need to sleep for about a week,” Eponine grumbled.

“Well, I can’t do that right now, I promised Combeferre I’d wait until he got here,” Grantaire told her. “But don’t feel like you need to stay.”

“I don’t,” she said, staring daggers at him. “I have work to take care of.” With that she turned around, flipping her hair over her shoulder, and stalked down the corridor, Grantaire walked back into Enjolras’ room, shaking his head.

Enjolras wasn’t really doing a lot better, he still didn’t remember anything, but he seemed to be in a good mood, although it was hard to tell if he was only pretending. Grantaire was sure that Enjolras saw how worried they all were, even though they all tried to be as normal as possible around him.

“She said she was your assistant,” Enjolras said as soon as Grantaire had settled in his usual spot at the end of Enjolras’ bed.

“She is,” Grantaire confirmed.

“What do you do?” Enjolras leaned forward, scrutinising him. “You should tell me things about yourself for change.”

“I’m an artist,” Grantaire mumbled. Enjolras had never seemed to think highly of his profession, but maybe Grantaire had only imagined that.

“A good one?” Enjolras asked, smiling at Grantaire.

“Some people seem to think so.” Actually, a lot of people seemed to think so, but Grantaire didn’t want to brag and Enjolras wasn’t interested that much anyway, he’d never been.

Enjolras was grinning now. “Can I see-”

They were interrupted by Combeferre, walking in with two bags full of food in his hands. “I brought Chinese.”

Grantaire scooted over to make space for Combeferre and took one of the bags from him. He handed Enjolras one of the boxes and a fork. He tried to use his right hand first, but immediately winced and clumsily ate his dinner with the fork in his left hand.

 “I remember that Grantaire tried to teach you how to eat with chopsticks once,” Combeferre mused, “but I think you nearly staked him with one.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure you deserved it,” Enjolras said nonchalantly.

“You really haven’t changed one bit,” Grantaire grumbled and started eating his own food.

Combeferre hardly ate anything, he looked exhausted, and Grantaire understood why. Combeferre had had a rough couple of days, he’d basically taken care of _everything_ , while Grantaire had only sat next to Enjolras’ bed. “There are some things we need to talk about,” Combeferre said when they were done eating. “Enjolras, they’re going to discharge you soon and we need to talk about what happens when they do.”

“I have a flat, right? I want to go back there,” Enjolras said immediately. “I’ll be fine. And it might help me remember things.”

“Sure, you can go back there,” Combeferre agreed, “And just so you know, it’s not proven that it will help, but you’re right, it might. But one of us will stay with you for a bit. I know you feel like you hardly know any of us and I know that might make you uncomfortable, but it would be for your best. I mean, it’s not just the memory loss, your arm is broken, you’ll have trouble with that as well.” Combeferre looked at Enjolras with a serious expression. “You still don’t want me to call your parents?”

Enjolras nodded. “I understand. And no, I don’t, I trust you when you say that I wouldn’t want you to.”

“Alright. Now, I’d stay with you, but I’m swamped with work and campus is pretty far away from your place, it would take me forever to get there every day, but Grantaire offered to stay with you for a bit, would that be okay with you?”

“Of course,” Enjolras said, turning to Grantaire. “But only if you don’t mind.”

“It’s fine, I’ve always been very fond of your sofa.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I've read A LOT about amnesia and there are tons of different forms and I'm not a doctor, so I basically have no idea if any of this makes sense. Apparently it's possible for a person to have retrograde amnesia, which means they lose all memories of what happened before an accident, and to still have their general knowledge and so on. I decided to go with that, but as I said, I'm not a doctor, so I apologise if any of this is inaccurate.
> 
> (I'd do more research, but I have enough work as it is.)
> 
> (I also really like the idea of Enjolras being a lawyer, I imagine he'd help people who can't afford a lawyer for free in his time off, which is why he works so much. It also requires him to wear suits. I like suits.)


	3. Chapter 3

“I can walk to your car, Combeferre, my feet are perfectly fine.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. It was about time that Enjolras got out of that damn hospital, he’d started to get extremely irritating, picked fights with the nurses and seemed to be increasingly bored. Grantaire had only come by to visit him for short amounts of time during the last couple of days, he’d tried to get as much work done as he could before he had to start his job as fulltime babysitter for Enjolras.

“It’s hospital policy,” Combeferre said patiently. “Are you sure you’ll be fine with me taking you home in the car?”

“I guess I won’t know until you try,” Enjolras mumbled and crossed his arms over his chest. He was wearing clothes Combeferre had brought for him and Grantaire’s leather jacket, and he looked as displeased as humanly possible.

Enjolras had already started getting frustrated with his situation. Everyone had come to tell him stories and to try to get him to remember, and with every time he _didn’t_ remember, he’d got a little more disappointed. And a little more angry.

Combeferre drove carefully, even more so than usual , talking to Enjolras all the while. Grantaire tried to listen and to keep his eyes open. He’d packed up his most important belongings and had gone straight to the hospital, had bought himself a cup of horrid coffee while he’d been waiting for Combeferre and Enjolras, and had tried not to freak out.

He was going to live with Enjolras, even if it was just for a couple of days, maybe two weeks, well, actually they hadn’t specified for how long he was supposed to stay, but for now he was going to eat there and sleep there and he had to make sure that Enjolras was alright, which was easier said than done.

“Just take it easy for a couple of days,” Combeferre was saying as he turned left into Enjolras’ street.

“I’ve taken it easy for long enough,” Enjolras complained.

“Still,” Combeferre said firmly. “And I want you to listen to Grantaire.”

“I’m not a child,” Enjolras snapped.

“I know that.” Combeferre pulled up next to the building Enjolras lived in. “I’ll come by tonight after my last lecture is done, are you guys going to be okay until then?”

“Yeah, sure,” Grantaire said, sounding a lot more confident than he felt. He quickly hopped out of the car, his bag slung over his shoulder.

“Do you have the keys?” Enjolras asked quietly. “I don’t have any of my stuff.”

“Oh, sure, I completely forgot about that.” Combeferre grabbed for a bag in the car and handed it to Enjolras. “That’s everything you had with you in your car.”

Enjolras stared at the bag in his hands as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. Grantaire gently plucked it from his fingers and started sifting through it until he found the keys, which he handed to Enjolras. “There go you.”

“Thank you,” he mumbled.

“Do you want me to come upstairs with you?” Combeferre asked, looking at Grantaire. He was hovering next to his car, and Grantaire was pretty sure that he had a class to teach and was already running late.

“No, you have to go to work, we’ll be fine,” Grantaire replied, even though he would have loved Combeferre to come. But he could handle this. Really.

“Thanks for driving us,” Enjolras said as Combeferre walked around his car.

“No problem, I’ll see you later. Call if you need anything, or call Jehan, he might be able to leave the bookshop for a bit.”

Grantaire nodded and waved goodbye, then he turned to Enjolras. “Let’s go.”

“Which one is the right one?” Enjolras held up his keys. “I can’t even remember how to get into my own flat.”

“It’s okay, we’ll figure it out.” Grantaire had seen Enjolras unlock this door many times, had followed him inside and up the stairs. They’d never taken the lift. “Do you mind?” he asked, nodding at the keys.

Enjolras handed them over wordlessly, and this time it was him who followed Grantaire. He took him up to the second floor and unlocked the door to his apartment. Grantaire dropped his bag next to the door and put Enjolras’ belongings on the table.

Enjolras was still in the doorway, looking into his flat like he was about to cross the threshold to hell.

“What’s wrong?” Grantaire asked and walked back to him.

“I don’t...” Enjolras shook his head. “I thought it would at least _seem_ familiar.”

Grantaire bit his lip. “I’m sorry, Enjolras.” He didn’t know what else to say, so he took Enjolras by the hand and slowly guided him into the flat, where Enjolras’ eyes settled on the red coat that was hanging on a coat rack next to the door. “That’s the one I was talking about.”

“At least something I remember.” He shrugged off Grantaire’s jacked and put it next to his coat. “Well, I only remember it because you told me about it.”

“Do you want to take a look around?” Grantaire asked and kicked off his shoes. “Or do you want to sit down for a minute?”

“No, I’m okay, do you mind if I look around on my own?”

“Not at all,” Grantaire said. “Do you think you’ll be okay on your own for half an hour or something? I just want to buy some food.”

“Yes, of course.” Enjolras’ eyes were already wandering around his flat. “I’m a bit messy, aren’t I?”

Grantaire grinned. “Just a bit. Your desk is perfectly neat, though.” Grantaire grabbed his phone and his wallet. “I’ll be back in a bit, don’t go anywhere.”

“I won’t,” Enjolras grumbled. “Don’t forget the keys.”

“Right,” Grantaire whispered. He didn’t have to ring the doorbell anymore and hope that Enjolras would let him in, he was allowed to take the keys.

* * *

When Grantaire came back, he found Enjolras in the living room, sitting on the floor, now wearing his own clothes, surrounded by books and files and loose sheets of paper.

“Everything okay?” Grantaire asked warily.

“No,” Enjolras said angrily and threw one of the books back on the floor. “I don’t know these books, I’ve never seen those films,” he continued, waving at the shelves lining the wall. “I found these files on the table over there.” He held one of them up. “I don’t even know my clients, I’m supposed to help them, but how am I supposed to help them, I don’t know anything about my job, it took me forever to get those clothes on because my right arm is fucking useless, I’m useless... What am I supposed to do?”

“You’re not useless.” Grantaire set the groceries down on the table and slowly sat down next to Enjolras. “Take a deep breath, okay?”

“You’re not helping,” Enjolras hissed.

Grantaire was very well aware that he really didn’t know what he was doing. “What can I do? Do you want a hug?” he asked helplessly.

“No, I really don’t,” Enjolras snapped, glaring at Grantaire, who wasn’t quite sure how the hell he was supposed to deal with this. Usually he’d glare back and one of them would start yelling and they’d fight and then forget about it. But he couldn’t do that, not with Enjolras looking so completely lost and frustrated.

“Okay,” Grantaire muttered and scratched his head. “Do you... want to be alone?”

Enjolras nodded. “I’m sorry, I know you’re trying to help.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” Grantaire grabbed the groceries and turned to Enjolras. “I’ll make something to eat.”

He’d almost finished making sandwiches when Enjolras shuffled into the kitchen. “I’m really sorry,” he said, leaning against the counter right next to Grantaire. “I didn’t mean to be so... you know. I’m bad at dealing with this, I hope you’re not mad.”

“I’m not,” Grantaire said with a sigh. “And you should stop apologising to me, it’s very unsettling.”

Enjolras frowned. “Why?”

“You don’t do that.” Grantaire sifted through the cupboards for plates. “Why do you have so much stuff? You never cook, all you need to survive is a coffeemaker.” Grantaire handed one of the sandwiches to Enjolras. “You even have a muffin tray, do you secretly bake and never tell any of us about it?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Enjolras said dryly, eyeing his sandwich suspiciously.

“You’ll like it, trust me.” Grantaire took his own plate and marched off towards the living room, where he dropped onto the sofa.

Enjolras sat down next to him, carefully balancing his plate, and took a bite of his sandwich. “Okay, yeah, I think I trust you when it comes to food.”

“Excellent decision,” Grantaire muttered. He waited until Enjolras had finished his food, then he leaned a little closer. “So, what do you want to do? Is there anywhere you want to go?”

“Well, I want to look around the flat a little more at first,” Enjolras said with a shrug. “Let’s just stay in today and maybe you can take me somewhere we often go tomorrow? I should probably go to work, too, at some point.”

Grantaire nodded. “We could go to the Musain tomorrow evening if you want, I can ask everyone if they want to come. And about work... Courfeyrac said there’s no hurry, they’re taking care of everything.”

“I probably wouldn’t do much good anyway,” Enjolras mumbled. His tone had a frustrated edge to it again.

“I’m pretty sure that Courfeyrac can teach you some of the basic stuff, but I wouldn’t worry about work too much for now, Enjolras.”

Enjolras only looked at him sullenly.

“Seriously,” Grantaire continued, “you’re going to have that cast on for another four or five weeks or something, I mean-”

“It’s okay, I get it.” Enjolras sighed. “Where did you put that bag Combeferre gave me earlier?”

 “I’ll get it for you.” Grantaire put away their empty plates on the way, wondering when exactly Combeferre would get here, knowing it probably wouldn’t be before six, which filled him with a feeling of dread. He didn’t usually spend much time with Enjolras, it was never just the two of them, and when it was they were either arguing or fucking.

* * *

**About 19 months earlier.**

“Not leaving yet?” Enjolras was collecting sheets of paper from around the table, all their friends had left already.

Grantaire took a sip of his beer. “I’ve been working for three days straight and by that I mean even at night, I really need a fucking break, stop judging me.”

“I’m not judging you,” Enjolras muttered and sat down next to him. “We’ve known each other for years and you still think... never mind.” Enjolras shook his head and took Grantaire’s beer. He took a swig, then another one. Grantaire watched him with an amused expression, wondering when he’d last seen Enjolras drink alcohol. “Do you remember how we met?”

Grantaire laughed. How could he forget? That had quite possibly been the best night of his entire life.  “Of course.”

“Listen,” Enjolras said all of a sudden, fiddling with the now empty bottle, “I still have a lot of work to do today, but... do you want to come to my place for a bit?”

Grantaire thought he’d misheard. He was probably having a stroke. Or a heart attack. Maybe both. “What?”

“You heard me,” Enjolras said, not meeting Grantaire’s eyes.

Grantaire scrambled off his chair, nearly knocking it over. “Sure, okay.”

They could have easily gone to Grantaire’s, his flat was just around the corner, but Enjolras led him to his car and took him back to his flat, a comfortable silence stretching between them for the whole ride. Maybe it was easier when they didn’t talk.

They kissed all the way up the stairs, Enjolras hardly managed to fumble his key into the lock, because Grantaire was nibbling on the back of his neck. “Grantaire,” Enjolras whispered, “not above the collar, I have a court date tomorrow.”

“Fine,” Grantaire mumbled against his skin, then he pushed him over the threshold, slamming the door shut behind them.

It was strange that they worked so well together in bed when nothing else worked between them. Enjolras might never talk about his sex life, but that obviously didn’t mean that he didn’t have one, because he sure knew what he was doing. He didn’t do things halfway, he made sure Grantaire was begging for it, begging Enjolras to fuck him, to just please, please, please do _something_.

It was wild and desperate and when Grantaire’s fingernails left red lines across Enjolras’ back, he didn’t complain, only moaned into Grantaire’s mouth and kissed him harder. Enjolras sucked bruises into his skin, made sure Grantaire would feel him for days.

They stayed in bed for a while afterwards, their limbs tangled, and Grantaire had kissed Enjolras’ sweaty skin, had ran his fingers through his curls, had held him close, had done all the things he’d always wanted to do, things he’d dreamt about, things he’d never thought he’d have.

“Grantaire...” Enjolras’ fingers slowly wandered down his spine, his hand came to a rest at the small of his back. “I have work to do.”

Grantaire made a disgruntled noise, but sat up slowly. “Sure, sorry, I’m leaving.” He started picking up his clothes, avoiding looking at Enjolras.

“Let’s not mention this to the others, okay?”

Grantaire looked at him then, really, what the hell had he expected, that Enjolras would ask him to stay the night and then make him breakfast in the morning and maybe ask him out on a date? “Fine, I won’t tell anyone.”

Enjolras must have noticed his bitter tone, because he got out of bed, quickly pulled on his boxer briefs and walked over to Grantaire. “You know what they’re like.”

“Yeah, I do.” Maybe Enjolras was right after all.

“Thanks,” Enjolras mumbled and kissed him one last time before he sent him on his way.

After the next meeting Enjolras was waiting for him again.

* * *

“What are you thinking about?” Enjolras asked as he stared down at his broken phone with a miserable face.

“Nothing,” Grantaire said quickly, hoping he wasn’t blushing. “We should see if you can get that fixed, it’s probably just the screen.”

The next thing Enjolras pulled from the bag was a black hoodie that was all too familiar to Grantaire. He’d left it here months ago and Enjolras had never given it back. He’d thought he’d lost it for a couple of weeks, then he’d come over on his way home from his studio once, even though it was basically in the opposite direction of where he had to go, and Enjolras had opened the door wearing it. Enjolras hadn’t let him in, though, because he’d been busy. Still, Grantaire had left with a smile on his face.

Combeferre came by later in the evening, brought pizza and mainly talked to Enjolras, asking how he was feeling and if there was anything he could do, going over insurance issues, both for the hospital and Enjolras’ car, which gave Grantaire a chance to relax for a while.

When Combeferre got up to leave, Enjolras yawned. “You should go to bed,” Combeferre said and gently pushed Enjolras towards his bedroom, “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“I still wanted to look through the stuff in my study,” Enjolras protested.

“You’ll have more than enough time for that tomorrow,” Grantaire cut in. “Just go to bed.”

Enjolras nodded. “Thanks for... you know, helping me,” he said, eyes flickering from Combeferre to Grantaire.

“Don’t worry about it,” Combeferre said quietly. He waited until Enjolras had vanished into the bathroom, before he turned to Grantiare. “How are you holding up?”

“Things are going strangely well,” Grantaire muttered. “I mean, he’s not too happy with not remembering things, but I think he’s fine.”

“What about you, though?”

“I’m just babysitting, it’s not like I-”

“Grantaire,” Combeferre interrupted with a sigh. “I know you two always liked to pretend that no one knew about this thing between you, but it’s not like no one noticed.”

“Right,” Grantaire muttered. “Things weren’t going too well recently, it’s not like I... nothing would change even if he remembered me.”

Combeferre lightly squeezed his shoulder. “I want you to tell me if it gets too much. If you don’t want to stay here anymore, for whatever reason, we’ll figure something out, I promise, just don’t think you have to do this.”

“I don’t think that,” Grantaire said defensively, “but yeah, we’ll see how it goes.”

Combeferre nodded and pulled him into a brief hug before he left.


	4. Chapter 4

Grantaire walked back into the living room, turned the lights off, only pulled off his jeans, grabbed a blanket and fell onto the sofa, face buried in a pillow. He heard the bathroom door open a few minutes later, then the door to Enjolras’ room was shut quietly.

He wrapped himself in his blanket, thinking he’d probably fall asleep immediately. It was just that he kept thinking about Enjolras, about all their fights and all the times they made up. The one time he’d fallen asleep right here on this sofa during a movie night, so many years ago when they’d barely known each other, the time that he’d gone home with Enjolras after their meetings and they’d only made it as far as the sofa. He thought about golden hair between his fingers and pale skin and delicate hands.

No, that was a bad idea, a horrible idea. Grantaire’s fingers dug into one of the cushions and he tried to get himself to think of something else, anything else, as long as it wasn’t Enjolras.

It was a long while later, when Grantaire had finally started dozing off, that he heard Enjolras’ bedroom door open again. When he didn’t hear anything else for a suspiciously long time, he slowly got off the sofa and walked down the hall to Enjolras’ study. The door was open a crack, the light was on and he could hear paper rustling.

“What are you doing?” Grantaire asked as he pushed the door open. He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the bright light.

Enjolras, still wearing his pyjamas, was pulling books and binders off the shelves, and there were piles of papers on the floor. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Enjolras,” Grantaire said and plucked the book he was holding from his hands, “you need to rest, okay? I know this isn’t easy for you and all of this must be really scary, but-”

“I just want to know who I am,” Enjolras said loudly. “I mean, look at this.” He picked up one of the books on his desk and waved it around in front of Grantaire’s face. “It’s in Latin. So, apparently I know Latin or I’m a really pretentious twat.”

“You do know Latin and I can also confirm that you’re a twat,” Grantaire grumbled. He just wanted to sleep, but he couldn’t just let Enjolras take his study apart.

“I am?” Enjolras asked, sounding mildly shocked.

Grantaire snorted. “Every now and then,” he replied, and looked around the room, trying to think of something he could tell him to calm him down. His eyes fell on a leather bound scrapbook. “Here,” he said and picked it up, “maybe we should look at this.”

“What’s that?” Enjolras took it from him and opened it.

“Jehan and I made it for you a couple of years ago.” Grantaire had spent hours drawing little doodles on the pages, Jehan had selected photos for days. He was a little surprised that Enjolras kept it in his study, he’d actually expected that it lay forgotten in some box.

“Oh,” Enjolras said, staring at the picture on the first page. “That’s nice of you guys.”

“You can look at it alone if you want,” Grantaire said, scratching his head, “but I wouldn’t mind, you know, telling you the stories behind the pictures.”

“Now?” Enjolras asked, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was way past midnight.

Grantaire shrugged. “Whenever you want.”

Enjolras ran his fingers through his tousled curls. “I don’t want to keep you up all night.”

Grantaire had to admit that he really liked this so much more considerate version of Enjolras, even though it was still slightly disconcerting. Anyway, he probably wouldn’t be able to sleep now, so he took the scrapbook from Enjolras and led him back to the living room.

“Okay,” he said once they’d settled on the sofa, pointing at the group picture on the first page, “that was-”

“Sorry to interrupt, but who is that?” Enjolras asked, pointing at Feuilly. “I don’t think I’ve met him? I mean, I obviously have, but not after the accident, right?”

Grantaire nodded, he’d completely forgotten. “Yeah, that’s Feuilly, he’s in South America at the moment, he’s been gone for a while.” He wasn’t even sure if anyone had been able to reach him to tell him about Enjolras. “Sorry, I’ll remember to think of that, there might be some more people you don’t remember.”

Enjolras leaned a little closer. “It’s fine, go on, when was that?”

“It actually was Feuilly’s first going away party, I think he went to the Ukraine or Hungary or something. Might have been Poland. He travelled a lot, we never knew where exactly he was, we’d just keep getting postcards from the craziest places. Jehan and I went to visit him when he was in Prague, I think this was taken about... three years ago maybe?”

Enjolras nodded and turned the page. “Oh my god, you look really young.”

“Yeah, thanks a lot,” Grantaire grumbled. He actually had that particular photo pinned to his fridge, it was just Enjolras and him, Enjolras’ arm slung around him, both of them laughing about something Grantaire couldn’t even remember.

“That’s not what I meant, you just look... well, younger. But so do I. And I have really long hair?” Enjolras paused and looked at Grantaire. “Anyway, I guess I just didn’t realise that we’ve known each other for so long.”

Grantaire hummed. “I’m pretty sure that was taken nearly five years ago.” He quickly pointed at another one. “Now, that one is from Jehan’s birthday three years ago.”

They kept going through the album and Grantaire actually grew somewhat melancholic thinking about all that time they’d spent together. Usually, when he looked back all he saw were their fights, but now that he saw all those pictures, he realised that they’d actually had a really good time together.

Grantaire tried really hard to remember details, but some things had just blurred into each other. Enjolras often asked about unfamiliar faces, most of the time ex-boyfriends or -girlfriends that had long since been forgotten. “That guy is Montparnasse, Jehan was going out with him for a while, but I think he’s in prison now.”

“Jehan doesn’t really look like he’s into the dangerous type.”

Grantaire snorted. “I know, but Jehan isn’t as sweet as he looks, let me tell you, he’s perfectly able of beating you to a pulp, he once punched a guy for me, that’s actually how we met.”

“That’s a story you should tell me sometime.” Enjolras pointed at the next picture. “Who’s she?”

“I think she was with me,” Grantaire said slowly, trying to remember. She was a pretty girl, blond locks, large blue eyes, but Grantaire could hardly recall her name, let alone what she’d been like.

“Oh,” was all Enjolras said, then he quickly turned the page.

Grantaire came up with even more anecdotes, even after they’d finished looking at the photos, Enjolras listened intently.

“You’re very fond of them, aren’t you?” Enjolras asked when Grantaire had finished telling him about the time they’d all rented a cabin at a lake, a holiday they’d been planning for ages and that had eventually been ruined by the weather. It had basically rained all week and they’d been trapped in their cabin, playing board games.

“Of course,” Grantaire said quietly, “you guys are like my family.”

“What about your actual family?” Enjolras asked. When Grantaire didn’t answer, Enjolras quickly apologised. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

Grantaire shook his head. “No, it’s okay... I just... you’ve never asked me about my family before.”

“God, I must be a really horrible friend,” Enjolras said sullenly.

“No, you’re not,” Grantaire said quickly and patted Enjolras’ arm, “it probably just never came up, it’s not like I talk about them a lot.”

“Still,” Enjolras muttered. “Tell me about them now. If you want.”

“There’s not much to tell. My dad hated me because I never met his expectations, he threw me out once I was 18 and my mum did nothing to stop him.” But that had been years ago and by now he was actually convinced that it was the best thing that had ever happened to him. “I haven’t talked to them ever since.”

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras said. “I think if I remembered, I could relate, Combeferre said I haven’t properly talked to my parents in years.”

“Yeah, I mean, you send them a Christmas card every year,” Grantaire said with a shrug. He didn’t know much, but Enjolras had briefly mentioned his parents last Christmas.

“How nice of me,” Enjolras mumbled. He fiddled with the hem of his shirt, then he turned to Grantaire. “Can I ask you something?”

That was never, under any circumstances, a good question. Grantaire took a deep breath. “Sure, ask away.”

“Do you know anything about my ex-boyfriends or girlfriends? No one was ever in the pictures, but there must have been someone,” he said. “Right?” he asked when Grantaire didn’t answer right away.

“I think there was a guy a while back, maybe three years ago?” Grantaire said uncertainly. It wasn’t like Enjolras had talked about his relationships and, well, the things he knew he wouldn’t mention, at least not right now. Enjolras didn’t need to know about them just yet.

“A guy,” Enjolras repeated, nodding, his eyes never leaving Grantaire’s, “well, I figured that much.”

Grantaire tried not to think too much about what exactly that meant. Of course, the old Enjolras must have liked _something_ about him, maybe this one did, too.

“It’s really weird,” Enjolras whispered, “I don’t even remember what it feels like. You know, kissing someone... or sex.”

“Oh my god,” Grantaire said. That was yet another thing he previously hadn’t thought of.

“Sorry,” Enjolras said quickly. “That was probably too much information.”

“It’s fine,” Grantaire chocked out. “I mean, you’re doing really well with all of this, if I were you, I’d probably be freaking out a lot.”

“I think I’m just pretty good at hiding that I’m freaking out.”

“You have to tell me when it gets too much, okay? That’s why I’m here, you’re not alone.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras mumbled and leaned his head against Grantaire’s shoulder.

Grantaire, really not sure what to do, just put his arm around Enjolras. They sat in silence for a long while, until Grantaire noticed that Enjolras had finally fallen asleep. He made sure that Enjolras was comfortable on the sofa, tucked him in, grabbed himself another blanket and went to sleep on the armchair next to the sofa.

* * *

Grantaire woke up to his phone blaring, his feet tangling in the blanket when he ran to answer it. “Yeah?” he croaked.

Enjolras stirred on the sofa, looking around the room slowly, probably a bit disorientated.

“Hi Grantaire, it’s Marius,” was the answer at the end of the line.

What the fuck was Marius calling him for? “Hey, what’s up?”

“Listen, Courfeyrac told me that you all wanted to go the Musain tonight, but maybe you could do that some other day, because Cosette and I thought we could cook dinner. It’s our wedding anniversary on Sunday and we wanted to celebrate with you all.”

“Oh, sure, why not... wait a second.” He turned to Enjolras. “How do you feel about going to Marius’ tonight?”

“Um, that’s fine, I guess?” Enjolras answered, slowly sitting up.

“Alright, Marius, we’re coming over,” Grantaire said. “When do you want us to be there?”

“Seven, if that’s okay with you.”

“Sure thing, see you later.” He hung up and checked the time. It was nearly noon. “You know,” he said, turning to Enjolras, “I probably should have mentioned that you actually really don’t like going to Marius’.”

“What?” Enjolras frowned. “Why don’t I?”

“You’re allergic to Napoleon,” Grantaire said simply. “He’s their cat,” he added when Enjolras looked even more confused than before.

“They named their cat Napoleon?” Enjolras asked, his expression very closely resembling the way he’d looked when Marius had first told him. It was something between disbelief and horror.

“He’s a very tiny cat,” Grantaire said, grinning at Enjolras, who was shaking his head. “And very cute, too.”

“He can’t be cute,” Enjolras said, “not when his name is Napoleon.”

It was moments like this when Grantaire was sure that the Enjolras he knew was still in there. “What do you want for breakfast?” he asked instead of getting into a discussion about appropriate cat names.

“Anything’s fine with me,” Enjolras said, smiling uncertainly, “it’s not like I have any preferences. I’m sure it’s going to be better than what I got at the hospital in any case.”

“I’ll make pancakes then.” Grantaire quickly pulled his jeans back on and walked into the kitchen.

 Enjolras followed at his heels. “How long have Marius and Cosette been married?”

“A year,” Grantaire replied and started getting the ingredients for the pancakes. “Ask them how they met, they love telling that story.”

Enjolras laughed. “I will,” he said and started sifting through the cupboards until he pulled a plastic bag out of one of them. “I’ll go take a shower.”

Grantaire watched him struggle for a minute as he tried to tape it over his cast. “Do you think it’ll kill you to ask me for help?”

“It might,” Enjolras said dryly. “Anyway, it’s not like you’ll always be here to help me, I might as well learn how to do it on my own.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Grantaire mumbled and abandoned his pancake batter, so he could fix the bag for Enjolras. “Be quick with your shower,” he called after him when he’d mumbled a _thank you_ and walked out of the kitchen.

* * *

“Hey, look, here’s a photo of Marius and Cosette’s dad,” Courfeyrac called and waved around a photo.

“Man, he looks terrified,” Bossuet mumbled.

“Understandable,” Joly said. “No offense,” he said to Cosette, “but your dad is really scary.”

“Let me see.” Bahorel stretched out his arm for the photo. “Dude, you look like you’re about to cry.”

“I think he _was_ about to cry,” Grantaire threw in. They’d had dinner in the living room because there was no way to fit all of them around the dining room table. At some point they’d started telling Enjolras stories about the wedding, then Cosette had fetched the box full of photos that they were now sifting through.

“Oh, look,” Jehan exclaimed, “Enjolras, it’s you dancing with Grantaire.” He passed the photo over to where Enjolras was sitting between Combeferre and Bahorel. “We all wanted to dance with him that evening,” he said, smiling at Grantaire.

“I think I’ve never been more popular in my life,” Grantaire mumbled.

“I guess you’re a good dancer then?” Enjolras asked, looking first at the photo, then at Grantaire.

“He’s not good,” Courfeyrac cut it, “he’s fantastic.”

“Can I see?” Grantaire asked, before his friends started praising his dancing skills. It always made him uncomfortable, because he really wasn’t that good, he just happened to be a little better than everyone else.

Enjolras gave him the picture and was already handed the next one by Courfeyrac.

Grantaire studied the photo, remembering how reluctant Enjolras had been at first. It had been pretty late already and there’d been only a few couples dancing. He could spot Jehan and Courfeyrac in the background, Combeferre dancing with the bride, Marius smiling at them from their table.

It had been a good night, even though he hadn’t got to take home Enjolras.

* * *

**1 year ago.**

Grantaire watched Enjolras, who was watching Combeferre dance with Cosette. He’d had a little too much champagne and he wasn’t being as cautious as he probably should. Enjolras wouldn’t appreciate it if he tried anything here with all of their friends around to see them, but he’d been watching him all day and he was being painfully obvious anyway.

He sat down on the chair next to Enjolras, leaning in. “Are you going to dance with me?” He’d danced with pretty much all of their friends that evening, it was just Enjolras who kept escaping him.

“I don’t think so,” Enjolras said, not unkindly. “I’m a horrible dancer.”

“So is Bossuet, but it looks like him and Musichetta are doing alright.”

“He stepped on her feet about ten times during the last two minutes,” Enjolras informed him.

Grantaire watched them for a while and had to admit that Musichetta looked like she was about to quit and go back to Joly, who was at the bar with Bahorel and Feuilly, who’d come home just for a couple of days for the wedding. Jehan and Courfeyrac were slow dancing and had been for about three songs, not really caring about what kind of music the band was playing.

Grantaire nudged Enjolras. He hadn’t explicitly said no, so he might as well try again. “Only one dance. I don’t mind you stepping on my feet.”

“Only one,” Enjolras said as he was standing up. “If you try to grab my ass, I’ll fucking murder you.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Grantaire said cheerfully as he took Enjolras by the hand to lead him onto the dancefloor.

Enjolras hadn’t lied, he really wasn’t the best dancer, but Grantaire enjoyed himself immensely anyway. Enjolras had been wrapped up in some huge case for the last couple of weeks and he had refused to let Grantaire come home with him until it was over.

Grantaire took the lead and dragged Enjolras across the dancefloor, past Courfeyrac and Jehan, who were both shouting encouragements, and when the song ended and a slower one came on, Enjolras stayed with him. “What happened to _only one_?”

“I changed my mind,” Enjolras mumbled. He was a lot closer than before, his lips were almost brushing against Grantaire’s temple.

“Does that mean I can grab your ass, too?” Grantaire asked jokingly, and let his hand wander down a few inches.

“No,” Enjolras said firmly, but Grantaire could hear the smile in his voice.

When the song ended Enjolras stayed close to Grantaire and whispered in his ear. “Meet me outside in ten minutes.” And with that he walked off towards the bar, leaving Grantaire standing on the dancefloor, completely dumbfounded.

Grantaire walked outside immediately, he sure as hell wouldn’t watch Enjolras for another ten minutes, because he’d probably go insane. It was cool outside, the stars shone brightly. Marius’ family owned the large country house the wedding was held at, the garden stretching out behind it was neatly kept, flowers were blooming all over the place and small fairy lights were decorating the hedges.

He sat down on the stone steps, listening for the door to open. It took Enjolras a lot longer to join him than the promised ten minutes. “Sorry, I was talking to Feuilly,” he said when he eventually showed up. He pulled Grantaire to his feet and wordlessly dragged him further into the garden.

They came to a stop in the shadow of a group of trees. “What-” He’d meant to ask what the fuck they were doing out here, since Enjolras seemed to be so keen on making sure that no one found out about them, and their friends would surely notice that they were both missing, but then Enjolras was kissing him and Grantaire forgot all about it instantly.

Enjolras was kissing him hungrily, he tasted like something a lot stronger than the champagne Grantaire had seem him drink earlier, and he pressed against Grantaire until they stumbled back against one of the trees. Grantaire didn’t waste a single thought about what the bark was going to do to his suit jacket, the only thing that mattered was Enjolras’ mouth on his, the teeth grazing his lip, the leg pressing between his thighs, the fingers in his hair, there was nothing else, only Enjolras.

* * *

Enjolras sneezed as he opened the door to his flat, then a second time when he stepped inside. “That bloody cat,” he muttered.

“You have to admit that he’s adorable, though,” Grantaire said and poked Enjolras in the ribs.

“Careful, I’m fragile,” Enjolras said, laughing, as he walked down the hall and into the living room. Seemed like they weren’t going to bed just yet. “Grantaire,” Enjolras said, suddenly serious again, “are you ever going to tell me how we met?”

“I told you, I just ran into you guys at some point, there’s nothing to tell.” The lie came so easily, and Grantaire almost wished it was true.

“Right,” Enjolras mumbled. Grantaire couldn’t quite tell if he sounded disappointed or if there was something else in his tone. “Well, goodnight then.”

“Goodnight, Enjolras.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Grantaire, for God’s sake, I can go buy milk on my own, I don’t need you for that,” Enjolras snapped, grabbing his keys from the kitchen counter.

It was Saturday morning, Enjolras was insisting on being difficult, Grantaire hadn’t got nearly enough sleep and therefore really wasn’t in the mood for this kind of shit. They’d already started bickering when Enjolras had tried to guess the password for his laptop earlier and Grantaire had told him to just stop because he wouldn’t guess it anyway. Enjolras hadn’t been too happy with that.

“I know that,” Grantaire said eventually, rubbing his temples.

“Why do you insist on treating me like a child then?” Enjolras asked, his eyes narrowed. “It’s like you don’t trust me with anything.”

“I’m not... I just... I don’t want you to... you know what, just go.” He hadn’t meant to yell, but this whole situation wasn’t exactly easy and Enjolras was really testing his patience at times. “I might as well go home, since you think you’d be doing so much better without me here.”

“Sure, do that, I’m sure you’ll be very happy, because you won’t have to play the babysitter for me anymore.” And with that Enjolras stomped out of the kitchen, leaving Grantaire alone with his thoughts.

He buried his head in his hands, wondering if he could have fucked up even worse. He stayed put for a while, waiting for the key to turn in the lock, because of course he wouldn’t leave, he’d stay and wait for Enjolras to come back and apologise for being such an unbearable idiot.

So far, Grantaire had always come crawling back in the end.

* * *

**7 weeks earlier.**

Grantaire was lying in bed with Enjolras, eyes closed, fingers carding through Enjolras’ curls, lightly scratching at his scalp every so often, enjoying the content noises Enjolras was making. Raindrops were tapping against the windows, a steady downpour that hadn’t let off ever since they’d stumbled into Enjolras’ flat, soaked to the bone.

Enjolras shifted next to him. “Don’t get too comfortable, there’s a case I have to work on and I-”

“Enjolras, it’s pouring outside, can I just stay for a little while longer?” Grantaire buried his face in a pillow.

He could feel Enjolras move next to him, then he heard footsteps walking around the bed. It only took a few seconds until his damp shirt landed on his head.

“Oh my god, seriously?”  Grantaire grumbled and sat up.

“That case is important, I don’t need you here to distract me.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have brought me here in the first place,” Grantaire said sourly and slipped his shirt back on.

Enjolras scoffed. “Maybe you’re right for once.”

“Who would have thought that my opinion would actually be considered valid one day,” Grantaire muttered and tried to pull on his damp jeans.

“If you had other opinions besides _Enjolras, everything you do is bullshit and won’t do any good anyway_ , I might actually listen every now and then.”

“See, that is your problems, you think everything you do is so important and that you’re going to save every last person on this planet, but it’s not going to happen, you can’t change the world, Enjolras, it doesn’t matter how hard you try.”

“I’m helping people,” Enjolras said, dangerously calm, “what do you do, Grantaire?”

“What am I supposed to do? It’s not going to do any good anyway. Everyone is full of shit, even you.” All he wanted to do was walk away and never come back, because this wasn’t good for him, he hated it when Enjolras threw him out like he was just some toy to pass the time with, like he was some faceless stranger he’d picked up in some bar, like he was completely worthless, like his feelings didn’t matter.

Still, he didn’t want to give this up, because nothing had ever made him happier than what they had, even though it was slowly but surely tearing him apart.

“I hate it when you’re like this,” Enjolras mumbled, shaking his head, “just get out, I don’t have time for this, not today.”

“Fine,” Grantaire snapped and gathered the rest of his belongings. “Don’t wait for me next week,” he yelled, slamming the door shut behind him.

He sat outside for a long while, letting the rain pour down on him, let it wash the smell of Enjolras out of his clothes and his hair and off his skin and waited, not exactly sure what he was expecting. Enjolras wouldn’t come downstairs, he wouldn’t take the bus to Grantaire’s flat to apologise, he wouldn’t text and he wouldn’t call, that was not what he did.

But he’d wait for him the following week, even though Grantaire had told him not to, and that was the only apology he’d get. Grantaire would go with him, a silent reassurance that they both still wanted this.

* * *

When Enjolras still wasn’t back after half an hour, Grantaire was starting to grow restless. Enjolras didn’t have a phone, Grantaire wasn’t even sure if he knew his own address. He shouldn’t have let him go and he was starting to get a little anxious, thinking about all the things that might have happened to him out there.

Of course, Enjolras was right, he wasn’t a child, he could go to the goddamned shop to buy milk by himself, he didn’t need Grantaire to walk him there, he didn’t need Grantaire to find the milk, he didn’t need him to find the way back to his flat, because it was really just around the corner.

Which was exactly what made Grantaire feel so uneasy. It was just around the corner, Enjolras should be back by now.

Grantaire picked up his phone and dialled Combeferre’s number.

Combeferre answered almost immediately. “Something wrong?”

“Listen, I might be overreacting,” Grantaire said slowly, “but Enjolras and I sort of fought and he left and he isn’t back yet and I don’t know if I should go looking for him or if-”

“How long has he been gone?” he asked calmly, interrupting Grantaire’s frantic babbling. God, sometimes Grantaire wished he could be a bit more like Combeferre.

“Half an hour, maybe a bit longer,” Grantaire said, biting his lip.

He heard Combeferre make a choked noise that sounded suspiciously like he was stifling a laugh. “I think you’re right, you _might_ be overreacting,” he mumbled. “Just wait a bit longer, he’ll come back.”

“Okay,” Grantaire said and sighed. “I’m just worried about him, you know?”

“I know.” Grantaire heard paper rustling at the other end of the line, then Combeferre spoke again. “How about I spend the evening with Enjolras and you can... take a break.”

“That’s a great idea,” Grantaire muttered, “but it’s only been a couple of days, I don’t-”

“Grantaire, it’s fine, you’re not alone in this, okay? We’re all here to help whenever you need us.”

“Thanks, ‘Ferre.”

“I’ll come by around six, I’ll bring dinner.”

“Thanks,” Grantaire said again.

Grantaire wandered around the flat then, trying to find something to do while he waited and eventually started cleaning the kitchen, because he really couldn’t think of anything better to do. It was at least another half an hour later when the door opened and Enjolras came striding in and wordlessly handed Grantaire a carton of milk.

“Took you long enough,” Grantaire said quietly.

Enjolras huffed and glared at him. “I went for a walk.”

“Maybe you could mention your plans to me beforehand, so I don’t have to wonder what the fuck happened to you.”

Enjolras blinked, taken aback. “You were worried,” he said slowly.

“Of course I was,” Grantaire hissed.

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras mumbled and took a step towards him, “I won’t just run off again, I promise, but I made it to the shop, so maybe you can consider letting me do the grocery shopping from now on?”

“Sure,” Grantaire said and awkwardly patted Enjolras on the arm. “By the way, Combeferre is coming over tonight and I might head out and stay at my flat tonight, is that okay?”

“Yes, of course, why wouldn’t it be,” Enjolras said, then he turned around and left without another word.

* * *

Grantaire slowly walked down the street Enjolras lived in. He knew it well, he knew that there were a couple of bars a few streets down, a few shops around the corner to the left, a little bakery to the right. Courfeyrac and Jehan’s place was a ten minute walk away.

At first, Grantaire had thought he’d want to be alone, that he’d buy a bottle of wine and hole up in his studio until the morning, but now he wasn’t so sure anymore, so he walked and walked, until he found himself in front of his friends’ building. He didn’t even know if they were home, it was Saturday and they probably really didn’t need Grantaire to annoy them for the better part of the evening.

He was about to turn around and walk away, but then decided against it and rang the doorbell anyway. He wouldn’t stay for long. An hour at the most.

Grantaire saw the curtains move on the first floor. Someone was home then.  “Come up,” Jehan’s voice came from the intercom before he buzzed him in.

Grantaire quickly ran up the stairs, where Jehan was already leaning in the doorway , waiting for him. Jehan hugged him tightly as way of greeting and ushered him into the flat. Grantaire liked it at Jehan’s, his and Courfeyrac’s flat was a nice open space, with big windows, bookshelves lining the walls and littered with flowerpots that Courfeyrac wasn’t allowed to touch, at least according to him.

“Where’s Courf?” Grantaire asked, looking around the empty flat. He let Jehan drag him over to the sofa and declined Jehan’s offer to make tea or coffee.

“He’s at the office,” Jehan answered. He didn’t sound too happy. “I think they’re just now starting to realise how much work Enjolras has actually been doing before the accident, and now that he’s not coming to work anymore, they’re pretty much swamped.”

“Enjolras really isn’t too happy that he can’t go to work either.” Courfeyrac had come to pick up all the case files Enjolras had still had lying around at home, promising he’d take care of everything, and Enjolras had been grumpy for the rest of the day because he didn’t want other people to  have to do his work for him.

Jehan nodded. “I guess some things never change,” he said, chuckling. “Anyway, no one’s blaming him, there’s nothing he can do about it.”

“That’s what I keep telling him,” Grantaire said with a shrug.

“Are you getting along?” Jehan poked him with his toe, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

“Most of the time.” It wasn’t even a lie, but Jehan seemed to sense that something was bothering him.

He leaned forward, his expression serious. “You didn’t tell him, did you? About you guys?”

“Is there anyone who didn’t know about us?” It seemed that their little secret wasn’t so much of a secret after all.

“No, of course not, darling,” Jehan said, patting his knee sympathetically. “It was pretty obvious, especially after the Christmas party at the Musain last year.”

Ah. Grantaire had almost forgotten about that.

* * *

**About 4 months earlier.**

Grantaire hadn’t really wanted to go to the Christmas party at the Musain, he’d just come back from a short trip to New York a day ago, and he was still jetlagged beyond belief, but now that he was here, he was glad he’d come after all.

The café was crowded, and Grantaire had trouble spotting his friends at first. Well, except for Courfeyrac and Marius, who were up on the stage, singing _Last Christmas_ in a way that should have emptied the café before they’d even finished the first verse, but hadn’t, which was a pretty good indicator for how drunk everyone already was.

Grantaire found Bossuet asleep, Joly drawing flowers on his face and his bald head, giggling when Bahorel, who sat across the table, shook his head disapprovingly, but didn’t otherwise do anything to stop him.

He came across Jehan a while later, when Courfeyrac and Marius had already moved on to the next song. Next to him was Combeferre, glasses askew, grinning broadly and knocking over two empty bottles of beer when he tried to hug Grantaire when he joined him and Jehan at their table. Grantaire was pretty sure he hadn’t seen Combeferre this drunk since their days at university.

“There you are,” Combeferre said, way louder than necessary, “we’ve been looking for you.”

“We thought you wouldn’t come,” Jehan said and hiccoughed. He still seemed very much in control of the situation, though. His cheeks weren’t nearly as flushed as Combeferre’s, his eyes weren’t as glazy, and his arms weren’t covered in writing yet, which usually was something that happened rather quickly when Jehan was drunk.

Combeferre nodded eagerly. “Enjolras was devastated, he wanted to call you a couple of times, but we took his phone away from him.”

Grantaire startled, quickly turning his head to Combeferre. “Wha-”

“You missed Bossuet falling off the stage,” Jehan said, as if Combeferre hadn’t just said the most outrageous thing Grantaire had ever heard.

“Bahorel caught him, though, he’s fine,” Combeferre assured him.

“Okay,” Grantaire said, not really listening. “What about Enjolras, though, where is he?”

“Oh, he’s getting drinks.” Combeferre laid his head down on the table, sighing heavily.

“You’ll find that he’s had quite a lot to drink,” Jehan mumbled as he scooted a little closer to Grantaire, “And by that I mean a lot for him.”

“I see,” Grantaire said, scanning the crowd for Enjolras’ blond curls.

When Enjolras did come back to their table a couple of minutes later, his eyes lit up as they fell on Grantaire. “You’re here,” he called excitedly, quickly set down the drinks he’d got, and basically crawled right over Jehan to get to him.

Jehan threw him a pointed look when Enjolras kissed Grantaire on the cheek.

“Hello to you, too,” Grantaire muttered and tried to get Enjolras off his lap, but failed miserably. “Help?” he mouthed, turning to Jehan.

Jehan shook his head. “We both know that you don’t need help. Or want help, for that matter.”

Courfeyrac joined them after a while, since Marius was now singing with Cosette, whose presence really was a big improvement. He stared at Enjolras, who was clinging to Grantaire like his life depended on it, then at Grantaire, who only shrugged, hoping they’d all forget that this ever happened.

Courfeyrac kept getting drinks for Enjolras and Grantaire figured that he also was the reason why Enjolras had got so drunk in the first place.

At some point Jehan dragged Grantaire away to dance with him, then they got drinks at the bar, where they ran into Musichetta, who’d just arrived after her shift at the hospital. That was where Enjolras found them later, trying to hug all three of them and nearly spilling their drinks.

“I forgot how clingy you are when you’re drunk,” Jehan said, throwing an arm around Enjolras, who grinned at him happily.

Musichetta pinched his cheek, which had him grinning even wider. “We should get him drunk more often,” she said and winked at Grantaire. “I’ll go find my boys.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” Enjolras muttered, hardly realising that Musichetta was leaving and then leaning heavily against Jehan. “Everything is wobbly, why is everything so wobbly?”

“Do you want to sit down?” Jehan asked with an amused smile.

Enjolras shook his head. “No, where’s Grantaire?”

“I’m right here,” Grantaire said dryly, tapping Enjolras on the shoulder.

Enjolras turned, looking at him like he was seeing him for the first time. “You are.” Enjolras let go of Jehan and wrapped his arms around Grantaire instead. “Can we go home?”

“I think Courfeyrac might want to stick around a bit longer,” Jehan said, patting Enjolras on the back, “but it won’t take too much longer, I promise.”

“’Aire can take me home,” Enjolras whined. “I’m tired,” he muttered into Grantaire’s hair. Grantaire wasn’t even sure if Jehan had heard.

“Grantaire doesn’t live anywhere near you, honey,” Jehan said, “Come on, let’s sit down.”

Grantaire was about to say that he really didn’t mind taking Enjolras home, but he’d already taken him by the hand and was dragging him over to the sofas. Jehan followed them, waiting until Enjolras had fallen asleep, slumped against Grantaire’s chest, before he turned to Grantaire. “I don’t need to tell you to be careful, right?”

“No, you really don’t,” Grantaire said and took a sip of his drink.

* * *

Grantaire stayed at Jehan’s until Courfeyrac got home about two hours later, aimlessly wandered around the neighbourhood for a while, walked into a bar, bought himself a drink, but decided he wasn’t even in the mood for drinking when his glass was half-empty.

All he wanted to do was go to bed, but his own bed was on the other side of town, close to campus, actually not too far from where Combeferre lived. He fished the spare key Enjolras had given to him out of his pockets, wondering if he should just go back. Enjolras’ sofa wasn’t all that bad, sure, but it didn’t compare to a bed.

Grantaire eventually took the bus back to his place. It was small and cluttered, things kept breaking all around him, furniture was crammed into every available space, art supplies were neatly stacked along one wall, still, because sometimes Grantaire just wasn’t in the mood to go to his studio, and there was a pile of clothes on the chair next to his desk, since he hardly ever worked at his desk anyway, and the chair made for a fantastic closet.

He was lying awake for about an hour, wondering if Enjolras was doing alright, until he finally got out of bed, pulled his clothes back on and grabbed his old macbook on the way out the door, then he took the bus back to Enjolras’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having way too much fun with those flashbacks.


	6. Chapter 6

When he got back to Enjolras’, the lights were out and everything was silent. He tried to make his way to the living room as quietly as possible, but Enjolras already came padding out of his room when Grantaire was locking the front door.

“What are you doing here?” Enjolras asked. He didn’t look like he’d actually been asleep yet.

“I, um... I brought you something,” Grantaire said, not sure if Enjolras would like it if he told him that he hadn’t been able to sleep, because he’d been so worried about him being here all by himself. He took the macbook out of his bag and handed it to Enjolras. “It doesn’t have a password, you should be fine with that one.”

“Thanks.” Enjolras took it from him, eyes fixed on Grantaire. “I’m glad you came back,” Enjolras muttered, his gaze dropping to his feet. “It was really quiet without your snoring.”

“I don’t snore,” Grantaire said defensively.

Enjolras grinned. “You do.”

“And how would you know that?” Grantaire asked, suddenly suspicious. There was no way he was snoring that loudly, and even if Enjolras remembered, Grantaire had never stayed the night.

“Sometimes I can’t sleep, so I wander around the flat... it’s not my fault that you always leave the door open.”

“You should have told me.” At least now he knew why Enjolras always looked so tired. “That you can’t sleep, I mean.”

“Why? There’s nothing you could do about it.”

“Still,” Grantaire mumbled. He couldn’t help but feel responsible for Enjolras, even though he was a grown man who was technically perfectly capable of taking care of himself.

Enjolras shuffled his feet. “I just don’t understand why I still don’t remember.”

“You know it’s not an exact science and that it can take a while, you just-”

“Please don’t give me that doctor crap, I’ve heard all that before. It’s not like I’m expecting everything to come back at once, but you know, it would be nice if I could at least remember some details.”

Grantaire bit his lip, which seemed to be becoming some kind of habit, just because he never knew what to say. “Why don’t you go back to bed,” he started, glancing at Enjolras’ bare feet, “and I’ll make you a cup of tea.” He took the macbook back and gently pushed Enjolras towards his bedroom. “I’ll be right there.”

Grantaire’s hands were trembling slightly as he made two cups of tea. He would have preferred something a lot stronger, which was never a good sign, because he’d been working really hard on avoiding drinking when he was nervous. Usually he only needed to distract himself somehow, but now he had nothing but Enjolras to focus on.

Enjolras was sitting on his bed, legs crossed, taking one of the cups from Grantaire with a smile. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Grantaire sat down at the edge of the bed. “Tell me if you need anything else.”

“You could tell me a story. Any story, I really don’t care. Tell me something about our friends or something like that.”

* * *

**4 and a half years ago.**

Grantaire was intentionally early for the meeting at the Musain, knowing that Combeferre would be there as well. They hardly ever talked, usually Combeferre sat at a table next to the window, reading a book or studying, a cup of coffee on the table, oftentimes together with an unfinished piece of chocolate cake.

Grantaire got himself some coffee, Irish coffee, though, and sat down on the chair opposite of Combeferre. The first time he’d found Combeferre here, he’d asked for permission to join him, but there was no need for that anymore. They made weird friends, they hardly knew a thing about each other, but Grantaire enjoyed his company immensely.

He’d found himself in Combeferre’s bed after a night out every now and again during the last couple of weeks, something else they never talked about, which Grantaire appreciated greatly. Combeferre knew that Grantaire still hadn’t really given up on chasing after Enjolras, even though he knew by now that he didn’t stand a chance with him. Anyway, it made talking superfluous, they knew exactly where they stood.

Grantaire would stay the night, maybe he’d buy Combeferre a coffee in the morning, but then they’d go their separate ways.

Combeferre didn’t look up when he sat down noisily, he’d finish his page first, greet him, then he’d keep reading. He was having apple pie today, and he pushed the plate across the table, eyes still fixed on his book.

Grantaire sneezed. He hadn’t been feeling all that great for a couple of days, he was probably coming down with the flu. Marvellous.

“Bless you,” Combeferre mumbled, still not looking up.

Grantaire sneezed yet again and started eating the rest of Combeferre’s pie in silence. Combeferre shut his book after a while, looking at him with a mildly concerned expression. “Are you getting sick?”

“Probably just a cold,” Grantaire said, his voice muffled.

“Are you sure you want to stick around for the meeting? I could drive you home.”

“And miss a chance to annoy Enjolras?” Grantaire asked. “I don’t think so.”

A smile was playing around Combeferre’s lips. “I actually think he somewhat enjoys your... discussions.”

“ _Sure_ he does.”

Combeferre shrugged. “Anyway... I’ll drive you home after the meeting if you insist on staying.” He opened his book again, throwing him a pointed look over the rim of his glasses before he continued reading. “Only if you want me to, of course.”

Grantaire laughed. “Why not.”

They fell silent again and neither of them uttered another word for about an hour until the meeting started and they relocated to the backroom. Grantaire ended up interrupting Enjolras not in the usual way, but with his sneezes and coughs, which were both growing more and more frequent.

Enjolras kept glancing at him while he was talking. Grantaire was sitting way in the back, in his usual corner, Joly kept handing him tissues, trying to convince him to get himself a cup of tea in a hushed voice.

When Grantaire sneezed three times in quick succession, Enjolras sighed loudly. “Let’s take a break.”

He vanished through the door and came back a couple of minutes later, with a huge mug in hand that he set down in front of Grantaire. “If you don’t stop sneezing until our next meeting, I’ll go insane.”

“I can’t help it, it’s a reflex,” Grantaire muttered angrily.

“I think,” Jehan said, patting Grantaire on the shoulder, “what Enjolras meant to say was _get well soon, here’s a cup of tea for you_. Right?”

“Right,” Enjolras grumbled, glaring at Courfeyrac, who’d snorted loudly at the other end of the table.

“Thanks, Enjolras,” Grantaire said, smiling up at him as sweetly as he could manage, before he had another coughing fit.

* * *

“That was basically when I realised that you actually had a heart,” Grantaire said, dramatically clutching his chest. He’d told Enjolras a couple of stories about their earlier meetings at the Musain, had managed not to let anything slip about how hopelessly in love he’d been with him and had managed not to specify the exact nature of the relationship he’d had with Combeferre.

He was actually pretty sure that Enjolras knew about them, or had known before his accident, surely Combeferre had told him at some point. It hadn’t been a big deal, neither of them had ever made one of it.

Enjolras raised his eyebrows. “Why did you think I didn’t?”

“We didn’t really... like each other much in the beginning,” Grantaire said, a smile tugging at his lips. God, things had changed so much. “You know, I told you we used to meet up at the Musain quite regularly, sometimes even two or three times a week, and at first we really didn’t get along, you hated me for always talking against everything you said.”

“And at some point I realised that having a second opinion isn’t necessarily a bad thing?” Enjolras asked.

“Something like that.” Grantaire actually wasn’t sure, maybe Enjolras had come to value what he had to say, maybe he’d just managed to get over himself, who knew. It had taken months until Enjolras had gone from glaring at him when he’d found him in the backroom of the Musain to actually greeting him in a way that didn’t make Grantaire want to get up and leave. “We had a couple of pretty bad fights.”

“And whose fault was that?” Enjolras asked jokingly.

Grantaire laughed. “Always yours.”

“Obviously,” Enjolras said, nodding. “And even if it hadn’t been my fault, it’s not like you’d tell me, right?”

“Exactly.” Grantaire let himself fall back onto the mattress with a deep sigh.

He felt the mattress shake, then Enjolras’ face appeared right next to his. “You don’t have to stay, you know,” he said very quietly. “I’ll be fine without anyone here, don’t feel like you have to be here all the time.”

 Grantaire frowned. “What brought that on all of a sudden?” Maybe Enjolras didn’t want him to stick around anymore. To be honest, he’d understand. “Do you want to get rid of me?”

Enjolras’ eyes were fixed on his, probing. “No, it’s just... sometimes I feel like you don’t want to be here.”

“That’s not true,” Grantaire said immediately. Well, maybe sometimes it was. “I came back here in the middle of the night, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, why did you?” Enjolras asked. “Not just to bring me that laptop, right?”

“I quite like it here.” _With you_.

Enjolras said nothing and closed his eyes. Grantaire studied his face for a while, his hands clenching into fists to keep himself from running his thumb over Enjolras’ cheekbones. “Well,” Enjolras said after a while, his eyes flying open again, “just don’t feel like you owe me anything. I don’t want to be anyone’s charity case.”

Grantaire snorted. Enjolras himself was actually really good at making other people his charity cases, of course he never meant any disrespect, he just wanted to help, even when people really didn’t want him to.

* * *

**Around 3 years ago. Give or take a couple of months.**

“Grantaire, you’ve had enough.” Enjolras tried to snatch his bottle of beer away from him, but Grantaire held on to it tightly. It was his only night off work in two weeks and he wasn’t planning on wasting it.

“Fuck off,” Grantaire grumbled. The meeting was over, everyone save for Enjolras, Combeferre and Courfeyrac had left, and Grantaire really wasn’t in the way or anything, he was just quietly sitting in his corner, and he just wanted to be left alone, there was no reason for Enjolras to be this annoyed.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras said, his voice almost soft. He sat down in the chair next to him. “I’m worried about you.”

“Well, that’s too bad.” Grantaire emptied his beer, avoiding Enjolras’ eyes. He nodded at Combeferre and Courfeyrac, who were getting up to leave.

Enjolras sighed. “There are people you can talk to, we’re all here to help you if you wanted to try to... change things. Have you ever even considered quitting?”

Grantaire turned his head slowly. “I don’t need your help, Enjolras. I don’t _want_ your fucking help.” He was doing fine, and sure, maybe he drank too much every now and then, maybe he was pretty fucked up on occasion, but that was his way of dealing with things, and it worked remarkably well.

“I just don’t want to watch you throw your life away like this,” Enjolras said, concern etched onto his features.

“My life is none of your business,” Grantaire hissed. He didn’t want to have this talk, not with Enjolras, not with anyone. “I’m not one of your causes, stop trying to make one of me.”

“You’re not,” Enjolras agreed, his voice low. “You’re my friend, I was just... trying to look out for you, I thought that was what friends did. But if you don’t want me to, I might as well stop wasting my time.”

Enjolras didn’t sound angry, this wasn’t one of their usual fights, and Grantaire didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know what to say, because even if he wanted anyone to help him, he’d just end up disappointing them in the end. “Just leave me alone.”

Enjolras did, leaving Grantaire at his table in the back, where he stayed until Cosette was starting to close up and ushered him outside, not without asking if she needed to call him a cab. Grantaire declined and stumbled into the next best bar. He didn’t make it home until the sun was already coming up.

Grantaire knew it would take a miracle for him to change his ways, and as it happened, Grantaire really didn’t believe in miracles.

* * *

“You’re not my charity case,” Grantaire clarified, “I don’t do charity, I’m a selfish bastard.”

“I’m sure you’re not,” Enjolras mumbled. His eyelids kept fluttering shut and Grantaire was starting to get really tired as well.

Grantaire chuckled quietly. “Ah, you don’t know me well.”

“I’m glad you’re here, though.” Enjolras finger’s curled around Grantaire’s wrist. “Don’t leave.”

Grantaire stared up at the ceiling for a moment. His heart was beating rapidly and he wasn’t quite sure if he remembered how to breathe. This was Enjolras, his Enjolras, he didn’t do feelings, he didn’t say things like that, not ever. “I won’t,” Grantaire managed eventually.

When he was sure that Enjolras was asleep, he carefully pried his fingers off his wrist and got up to go back to the living room.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras mumbled when Grantaire switched the light off.

Grantaire stopped dead. “Yeah?”

Enjolras was quiet for a minute and Grantaire almost thought he’d fallen asleep again. “Nothing,” Enjolras mumbled eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the lovely comments guys!!


	7. Chapter 7

Enjolras came into the living room the next morning, absent-mindedly picking at his cast. He’d refused to let anyone draw on it, which had probably been a wise decision. When Bahorel had broken his wrist a while ago, someone, not Courfeyrac, no definitely not him, had drawn a dick on his cast during a party, which was a pretty good indicator for how mature they all were.

Grantaire looked up from the book he was reading. At least now he had time to read, even though he was actually dying to go back to work, because he had so many ideas. Maybe he could sneak over to the studio for a couple of hours. He spent a little too much time marvelling at Enjolras’ bedhead, then he cleared his throat. “Did you sleep alright?”

“I had a really weird dream,” Enjolras said and sat down next to him, scratching his head. “Is that your coffee?”

Grantaire took the mug and handed it to Enjolras. “Wanna talk about your dream?”

“I think you were in it,” Enjolras said with a shrug, “I don’t really remember.” He took a sip of Grantaire’s coffee and made a face. “Not enough sugar.”

“Right, you take sugar in your coffee... weakling.”

Enjolras huffed and sullenly stared into the mug. “We should do something today. If you want?”

“Yeah sure, we could-” He was interrupted by his phone, which had started to buzz insistently. It was Eponine. “Just a second,” Grantaire muttered, shooting Enjolras an apologetic look.

“What’s up? Something wrong?” Eponine knew that he was taking at least a week off, if not two, and he’d made her promise not to call unless it was important.

“You need to come in,” Eponine said, without preamble. “Remember that guy from Italy who bought two of your paintings about two years ago? His secretary just called me and asked if we could set up a meeting. And I told him you were busy, as you told me to, but he was quite persuasive. This would be a really good deal ‘Aire, you should think about it.”

“And it has to be today?” Grantaire asked. He remembered the Italian guy, there was no way he’d ever forget him. He’d paid about twice as much for the paintings he’d bought as Grantaire had expected, very early in his career when he’d sorely needed the money, and if there was another offer on the table, well, Grantaire had bills that needed to be paid and taking commissions was pretty much vital for him. Because even though things were going great for him right now, it hadn’t always been that way and he really wasn’t counting on it to go on like this forever.

“He’s leaving town tomorrow morning,” Eponine replied.

“Well, I can’t really-”

Enjolras looked up. “Go, I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?” Grantaire mouthed. He didn’t want to ditch Enjolras, but then again, that commission might ensure that he could keep his studio for another couple of months, that he could pay Eponine for another couple of months, that he wouldn’t starve for another couple of months. Enjolras nodded and took another sip of Grantaire’s coffee. “’Ponine, I’ll be there in an hour.”

“Sounded important,” Enjolras mused, watching as Grantaire scrambled off the sofa.

“Sort of is,” Grantaire said, looking around, trying to figure out where he’d put his keys. “Listen, how about you pick me up at the studio later on and then we can go do something.”

“Sounds good to me.”

* * *

“I nearly didn’t find it,” Enjolras said as he came walking into Grantaire’s studio. Grantaire almost jumped, Eponine had left a while ago and he’d completely forgotten that Enjolras was coming over, he’d been too caught up in his work.

Grantaire looked around, trying not to pay too much attention to the fact that Enjolras was wearing his black hoodie without even knowing it was Grantaire’s. “Oh god, I totally forgot that you didn’t know where it was.”

“It’s fine, I asked Combeferre for help.” Enjolras was still hovering next to the door. “He said no one had ever actually been here.”

“Well, he wasn’t lying,” Grantaire said and put his brush down.

“Why not?”

Grantaire shrugged. “I don’t know... I just... I don’t like having people here.”

“That’s too bad, you have a lot of really cool stuff here,” Enjolras said, eyes flickering to the photographs Grantaire had pinned to the wall. “Do you want to leave?”

“Yeah, just let me clean this up,” Grantaire mumbled, trying not to get distracted by Enjolras, who was still busy inspecting the wall of photos.

“How did your meeting go?”

“It went really well.” It was just that now he had a commission to do and absolutely no time to do it.

“That’s great,” Enjolras said, smiling at Grantaire when he joined him at the door. “One day you’ll have to tell me how you ended up with this studio and everything.”

* * *

**About 2 years ago.**

“You’re incredibly talented, young man,” a voice behind Grantaire said.

Grantaire laughed. “You’re the only one who seems to think so.”

He was at the Musain, sitting next to one of the windows, so he had a good view of the little shops on the other side of the street. He’d come to draw, there was no meeting tonight, everyone was pretty wrapped up in their own lives these days.

Enjolras and Courfeyrac had just started their own business, and there were talks of Cosette’s boyfriend joining them, not that Grantaire was keeping track of all the boyfriends and girlfriends that came and went, but it seemed that they were pretty serious, and as far as Grantaire knew they’d been dating for a couple of months, so Cosette’s Marius might stick around for the long run.

Without Enjolras around to insist on regularly holding meetings, because he was too busy, they didn’t actually get anything done when some of them randomly showed up at the Musain. Well, save for a lot of drinking.

Jehan had promised to come by after his shift at the bookstore he’d started working at not too long ago. Apparently being a freelance journalist didn’t pay well enough, so he’d found himself a second job. Combeferre had said he might join them later, but he was constantly swamped with work, so chances were he wouldn’t.

Grantaire hadn’t seen Joly in weeks, all he knew was that Bossuet had moved in with him, he’d run into Bahorel at the Corinthe only a couple of days ago, but they didn’t see each other as much since Grantaire had given up boxing.

Feuilly was still sending postcards, promising to come home soon, as he’d been doing for months. Initially, he’d been planning on staying for two months at the most, but then they’d turned into three, then into four, and so on. At some point Grantaire and Jehan had just packed their bags and gone to Prague to visit him, because they knew otherwise they wouldn’t see him for a very long time.

Everyone seemed to be getting their lives together, only Grantaire still worked at the Mexican restaurant down the road from his flat, because as it turned out pursuing an art degree really hadn’t been his smartest decision.

Grantaire turned around to see who’d just spoken to him and found an elderly man peering over his shoulder. He recognised him as the owner of the little art shop across the street. Grantaire bought most of his supplies there, every employee knew him and they usually gave him a discount, because he came there so often.

“I surely can’t be the only one,” the man said, eyes wandering over the drawing. “How much for the drawing?”

“It’s not finished,” Grantaire muttered. He’d never sold anything. Obviously he’d tried to get his paintings into galleries, but he hadn’t actually been successful. He’d sold one here and there when he’d still been a student, and he was even sure that if he went to see some of his former teachers, they’d be able to help him out. But Grantaire didn’t want to ask for help.

The man nodded understandingly. “How much for it when it’s finished?”

“I... you can have it for free. I’ll bring it over when I’m done,” Grantaire said slowly. He gave his drawings to people all the time, this wasn’t any different.

“Thank you,” the man said and patted him on the back before he left.

Grantaire didn’t finish the drawing until two days later. As promised he went to the shop and found its owner behind the counter, smiling at him as he entered. “Is it done?”

“It is,” Grantaire said cheerfully and handed it over.

“Now,” said the man and grabbed his wallet from somewhere behind the counter, “I know you wanted to give it to me for free, which I appreciate, but that’s not going to pay your rent.”

* * *

The drawing Grantaire had sold that day was still hanging on the wall behind the counter to this date and Grantaire was quite proud of it, because it was the reason he’d got to where he was today. He’d got a call not too much later with an offer to put some of his work on display in a small gallery downtown. Things had just gone from there.

“So,” he said, after Enjolras had been staring at his photos for an uncomfortably long time, “where do you want to go?”

“We should get something to eat,” Enjolras said, tugging at Grantaire’s sleeve, “lead the way.”

“Okay,” Grantaire said and took him to a burger place they’d often gone to during their time at university. He didn’t mention it, it was pretty obvious that Enjolras didn’t remember ever having been there, and Grantaire really didn’t ruin his good mood.

Enjolras did like it when everyone told him stories, Grantaire was sure, but he also saw the disappointment that followed when Enjolras still couldn’t seem to recall any of it. He tried to hide it, but it didn’t work all too well.

They were on their way to the bus stop, and they passed the Musain, which Enjolras recognised by its name, and so Grantaire ended up pointing out the Corinthe, which was just around the corner. “I found it way before we met, I actually saw Joly and Bossuet there every now and then, and it’s where I met Courfeyrac as well.”

“So, Courfeyrac was the first one of us you knew?” Enjolras asked, curiously glancing at the Corinthe.

“No, I met Jehan first, because he... had a thing with Montparnasse. And I was hanging around with him a lot back then.”

Enjolras’ eyes went wide. “The guy who’s in prison now?”

“I had a troubled youth,” Grantaire deadpanned. “Anyway, I met Courfeyrac at some party not too long after I first met Jehan.”

“And me?”

“You... I think I met you a couple of months later. I’m not sure.” Grantaire shrugged and tried to tug Enjolras along.

“Wait,” Enjolras said, “we should go in.”

“Go in?” Grantaire asked, a little taken aback.

“Yeah, let’s have a drink.” Enjolras took him by the hand and dragged him towards the Corinthe. There was a white smudge next to the door, where Courfeyrac had confused the wall with a chalkboard a couple of years ago.

They settled in a corner and were greeted like old friends, which they were, in a way, it was just they were coming here a lot less frequently, now that they were all pretending to be adults.

It became very clear very soon that Enjolras really wasn’t used to drinking and was already starting to slur his speech when Grantaire was only just starting to feel a little tipsy.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras whispered after a while, leaning in close, “that girl over there at the bar... do I know her?”

Grantaire looked around, not even trying not to be obvious. It wasn’t too hard to figure out which girl Enjolras was talking about. Grantaire had never seen her before, she was still looking at them, a smile curling around her lips. Grantaire snorted and turned back to Enjolras. “I think it’s safe to say that you don’t know her, she’s just flirting with you.”

“Oh,” was all Enjolras managed, before he scooted over a few inches, so he could hide behind Grantaire. “Maybe you should go talk to her.”

“She’s not flirting with _me_ , dumbass,” Grantaire said, laughing. “Anyway, why would she.”

Enjolras shrugged. “Why wouldn’t she?”

“Believe me, no one will ever flirt with me while you’re sitting next to me.”

Enjolras frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve seen yourself, right?” Grantaire asked. This wasn’t exactly the kind of topic Grantaire was happy to talk about, but sometimes Enjolras was just being hopelessly oblivious.

Enjolras gaped at him, then he gulped down his drink instead of answering.

“Anyway,” Grantaire muttered, “she’s not...” He trailed off, since he could hardly end that sentence with _you_.

“Your type?” Enjolras asked, still leaning over the table.

Grantaire shrugged. “Yeah, I guess not.” He was starting to wish that Enjolras would just let it go.

“I could totally be your wingman, you know,” Enjolras said, grinning at him.

“Have you been watching _How I met your mother_?” Grantaire asked, raising his eyebrows.

Enjolras chuckled. God, he was entirely too adorable. “What was I supposed to do? You were gone all afternoon.” He started playing with his empty glass and almost managed to slide it off the table, already clumsy with the cast on his arm, and even clumsier after the drinks he’d had.

“Right.” Grantaire took the glass from him. “I think we should head home.”

Grantaire took care of paying for their drinks, then he dragged Enjolras outside. “I think I’m drunk,” Enjolras slurred as he stumbled forwards.

Grantaire caught him, wondering if it was maybe easier to just take Enjolras to his flat instead of taking him all the way across town. “Enjolras, my flat is just down the road, do you mind if we stay there tonight?”

Enjolras nodded enthusiastically. “That’s fine, I’ve never been to your place, I mean, I probably have, but I don’t remember, why can’t I remember?” He stopped dead, one arm slung around Grantaire. Right, he was clingy when he was drunk. “I just want my life back.”

“It’ll come back,” Grantaire said. God, he really needed to come up with something better to say. Maybe he should get a handbook on how to deal with people who have retrograde amnesia.

Enjolras stumbled against him, burying his head against Grantaire’s neck. “I want it to come back now.”

“It’s okay, Enjolras,” Grantaire mumbled and pulled Enjolras into a hug, “it’s going to be fine, I promise.”

Enjolras clung to him until Grantaire pulled away, because Grantaire was actually a little scared that Enjolras was going to fall asleep or freak out on him or do anything else he really wasn’t prepared to deal with. Enjolras followed him to his flat in silence, more stumbling than walking.

“You can sleep in the bed,” Grantaire said. His own sofa was actually the most horrible thing to sleep on, which was all the more reason not to make Enjolras sleep on it.

“So can you,” Enjolras muttered and willingly went where Grantaire was pushing him.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He wouldn’t sleep all night with Enjolras next to him, he was sure.

Enjolras took his hand, squeezing lightly. “Please.” And that was that.

He didn’t sleep, not when Enjolras was only a few inches away from him, not when Enjolras burrowed closer, not when he wrapped an arm around Grantaire.

Grantaire had always wanted this, had always hoped that one day Enjolras would just let him stay and would let him have one night to hold him close and pretend that deep down Enjolras actually didn’t despise him.

But this? This was nothing but a cruel joke.

He closed his eyes, and tried to relax and focus on Enjolras’ breathing, until he finally, finally fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (since you guys seem to like the flashbacks so much... feel free to request one you'd like to see in the fic if you want, just put it in the comments or send me an ask on tumblr, my url is jehanly)


	8. Chapter 8

Grantaire didn’t dare move when he woke up the next morning. Enjolras’ head was pillowed on his chest and he had one arm slung around Grantaire, keeping him exactly where he was.

“You awake?” Enjolras muttered after a while.

“Yeah,” Grantaire answered. There must be some way of not making this awkward.

Enjolras didn’t move an inch, he only sighed. “I’m sorry about last night, I’m really complaining too much about not being able to remember anything, I should work on turning that off somehow.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He awkwardly petted Enjolras’ hair. “Everyone understands that you’re frustrated, and the last couple of days sure weren’t easy for you.”

Enjolras sat up, biting his lip. “Can I tell you something?”

“Sure,” Grantaire answered.

“Promise you won’t laugh,” Enjolras said, slowly looking around Grantaire’s flat, before his gaze flickered back to Grantaire. “And promise you won’t be angry.”

Grantaire frowned. “Why would I be angry?” Enjolras didn’t answer. “Fine, I won’t be angry, I promise.”

“Well, when I went to buy milk and I said I went for a walk... I actually... well, I did go for a walk, because I was mad and didn’t want to go back home right away, but I somehow got a bit lost and I-”

Grantaire sat up straight. “You got lost?”

“But I made it back eventually, please don’t look at me like that, nothing happened to me,” Enjolras said quickly. “You said you wouldn’t be angry, remember?” he added.

Grantaire wasn’t angry, really, but this was so exactly like Enjolras. “Why didn’t you tell me in the first place?” Enjolras must have been so scared, then again, he’d always had been quite good at hiding his feelings. Or refusing to admit that he had any.

* * *

**3 months earlier.**

“You seem stressed,” Grantaire mused, watching as Enjolras paced back and forth. They’d stayed at the Musain after one of their now very rare meetings to have a drink and to talk. Grantaire wasn’t quite sure why Enjolras was suddenly insisting on talking, but he’d figured he’d humour him.

“You don’t say,” Enjolras grumbled, but didn’t protest when Grantaire pulled him in his lap. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Go ahead,” Grantaire mumbled and nuzzled at Enjolras’ neck.

Enjolras sighed. “I can’t concentrate when you’re doing that.”

“Ah, I’m sure I’m not that distracting.” Grantaire slowly trailed his fingers up Enjolras’ thigh. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“I have this really important case and...” Enjolras’ breath hitched when Grantaire nipped at his earlobe. “I...”

Grantaire smirked. “Yeah?”

“You really need to stop, what if someone comes in?” Enjolras turned, frowning at Grantaire. He looked stunning, even when he was looking so completely and utterly displeased.

Grantaire brushed a loose strand of hair behind Enjolras’ ear. “Everyone went home,” he said quietly.

Enjolras glanced at the door. “Still...”

“Would it really be so bad if they found out?” Grantaire asked. He respected Enjolras’ choices, but their friends were far from judgemental, no one would even care.

“Well, I’m not saying it would be the end of the world... but I’d rather...”

“Right, whatever,” Grantaire mumbled when Enjolras didn’t finish his sentence. “So, you were saying?”

Enjolras remained silent for a couple of minutes. “Never mind,” he said eventually, and got up. “Are you coming home with me?”

Grantaire looked up at him. “I thought you were busy?”

“I could use the distraction.” Enjolras held out his hand. He still looked a little upset, and also tired, but that was nothing new.

Grantaire took his hand and Enjolras pulled him off his chair. “So, what did you want to talk about?” Grantaire asked as they made their way outside, because he was curious after all. “You didn’t just want to complain about your case, right?”

“It wasn’t important,” Enjolras said, waving his hand dismissively. “It can wait.”

“Are you sure?” Enjolras wouldn’t have asked him if they could have a talk if it weren’t important, because Enjolras and him, well, they usually didn’t talk. Of course, they’d chat idly when they all went out together, they’d have their little arguments at the Musain, which were now a lot more civilised than they had been in the very beginning, but when he went home with Enjolras they hardly talked, not that there was much to talk about.

Enjolras talked about his work every now and then, Grantaire never did, simply because he felt like Enjolras wouldn’t be interested. Enjolras usually didn’t ask Grantaire where he went when he missed meetings.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire said softly, when Enjolras had pulled him onto his bed. Enjolras’ blonde hair was splayed out against the sheets, his eyes were closed, and he looked completely relaxed, almost like he was about to drift off to sleep.

Enjolras opened his eyes a crack. “Hmm?”

“Is everything okay?” Grantaire trailed his fingers down Enjolras’ chest. “You look tired.”

“Yeah, sure, I’m fine,” he said hastily and pulled Grantaire down for another kiss.

“You know, it’s okay to have feelings and stuff, it happens to a lot of people, you wouldn’t be the first one to be fucking exhausted or anything.” Great, now he was babbling, but Enjolras wasn’t exactly good at telling when it was time to just sit down and take a break. Or when to sleep.

Enjolras sighed deeply. “Maybe I’m a little tired,” he allowed.

“See, that wasn’t hard, was it?” Grantaire kissed him on the cheek and sat up. “Just sleep, okay?” He slowly pulled on the clothes Enjolras had previously stripped off him.

“Sorry for dragging you all the way out here.” He sat up, his eyes following Grantaire as he moved about the room. “I can drive you home.”

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

Enjolras nodded. “Thank you,” he said, even though Grantaire wasn’t quite sure what exactly he was thanking him for. He hardly ever heard Enjolras thank anyone, or when he did, his words weren’t directed at Grantaire.

For a moment, Grantaire felt like something had changed, nothing major, it was more like a very subtle shift. It only took a couple of days for him to realise that he’d probably just imagined it.

* * *

“I’m going to Combeferre’s, do you want to come?” Enjolras had spent the better part of the day digging through his study and making good use of Grantaire’s old macbook. Grantaire had kept him company for a while, then he’d realised that he was in the way and had relocated to the living room.

When he’d eventually grown tired of thinking about how he’d spent the previous night with Enjolras in his arms, he’d grabbed a notepad and had started doodling.

When he looked up, he found Enjolras standing in the door.

Enjolras slowly made his way over to the couch, glancing at what Grantaire was drawing. “That looks nice.”

“Thank you,” Grantaire muttered, wondering if Enjolras had ever actually commented on anything he’d drawn. He couldn’t remember. “And I don’t think I’ll come, I’m gonna head back to the studio.”

Enjolras smiled down at him. “Don’t feel like you have to go anywhere just because I’m not here, though.”

“Nah, I just want to get some work done. I’ll come back later, okay?”

Enjolras nodded. “Thank you, have a good evening, then.”

Grantaire watched him disappear into the hallway, wondering how many more _thank yous_ from Enjolras he could deal with before he went insane. He didn’t want to get used to this, because at some point Enjolras would remember and Grantaire really wasn’t sure where they’d stand once that happened.

He also wasn’t really sure how Enjolras would react if he found out that Grantaire had kept the exact nature of their relationship a secret. Enjolras would probably be furious, which was all the more reason to tell him, but Grantaire didn’t know how to broach the subject with him.

Grantaire really needed to talk to someone, not just because he didn’t know how to tell Enjolras, but also because he had the notion that he was falling in love with Enjolras all over again, which was probably the worst thing that could possibly be happening. Every time Enjolras smiled at him or thanked him for sticking around, every time he complimented his cooking, every time he even so much as touched Grantaire, he felt like he was falling, fast and hard.

He’d accepted that Enjolras would never be anything more than his friend a very long time ago, but then he’d ended up in Enjolras’ bed, and then again, and again, and he’d promised himself that he wouldn’t start hoping and that he wouldn’t try to make more of it than it was.

When he’d first met Enjolras, Grantaire had gone to Jehan’s, had gushed over Enjolras for nearly an hour,  and Jehan had only shaken his head, handed him his joint and mumbled, “Man, you got it bad.” Grantaire really hadn’t needed Jehan to come to that conclusion.

He’d end up at Combeferre’s, probably sooner than later, everyone always ended up at Combeferre’s. It was simply because paying Combeferre a visit was more effective and a lot less expensive than seeing a therapist.

“Have fun with ‘Ferre,” Grantaire called. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Enjolras reappeared in the doorway, his eyebrows raised. “Why would we?”

“I’m just saying, I don’t want to have to bail you guys out of jail again.”

* * *

**4 years and 2 months ago.**

Grantaire was leaning against the brick wall, playing with an unlit cigarette he’d had stuck behind his ear, completely forgotten until now.

He’d come to pick up Enjolras and Combeferre, who’d somehow managed to get arrested during one of their ridiculous protests. Not one they’d organised, though, but anyway, Grantaire didn’t go to these things, but since he _knew people_ , as Courfeyrac had put it, he’d been sent to bail them out.

Well, talk them out, more like.

Loads of people owed him favours for one reason or another, and well, if there was one talent he had it was talking, no matter if it was talking people out of things or into doing things, unless it was Enjolras he was talking to, because Enjolras didn’t give a crap about what he had to say.

Grantaire had told him that going to that protest was a stupid idea, but had anyone listened to him? No, of course not. And now he was freezing his ass off and it was late, so late that he could be pleasantly drunk right now, but instead he’d spent a good half hour talking at an overly motivated police officer, before another he actually knew had finally come to his rescue and had promised to let Enjolras and Combeferre out.

Something seemed to be taking them a while, though, and by now Courfeyrac was probably thinking that Grantaire had taken his car and gone to a bar instead of the police to get their friends. Grantaire really couldn’t blame him if he did.

“I swear, only _you_ could manage to get us arrested twice in one day.” Sounded like Combeferre wasn’t too happy with Enjolras.

“He didn’t have to be that rude,” Enjolras grumbled as he walked down the steps and stopped dead in front of Grantaire. “What are you doing here?”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Who’s being rude now?”

“You bailed us out?” Enjolras asked incredulously. “Why?”

“Because Courfeyrac asked me to.” Grantaire shrugged. “I know some of the guys who work here,” he explained, “it made things easier.”

“Thank you, Grantaire,” Combeferre said and squeezed his shoulder as they walked over to where Grantaire had parked Courfeyrac’s car.

“You forgot to pay,” Enjolras said with a glance at the parking meter.

“I was right there.” Grantaire waved at where he’d been stood for the last half hour. He probably couldn’t expect thanks from Enjolras.

“You have to excuse Enjolras,” Combeferre said as he ushered Enjolras into the car, “he’s had a pretty rough day.”

Grantaire snorted. “Right... let’s just get you guys home.”

“Is everyone else okay?” Combeferre asked as Grantaire started the car. “I think some guy hit Jehan pretty hard, I tried to get through to him, but...”

“Oh yeah, Jehan is fine, Joly took good care of him. They had to take Bahorel to the hospital, though, I think someone broke his nose.” Grantaire was pretty sure that Bahorel was absolutely delighted, there was nothing he loved more than a good fight. If there were punches being thrown, you could count on Bahorel to have the time of his life. “Everyone else is okay, they wanted to order pizza, I think.”

Enjolras let out a pained whimper.

“He hasn’t eaten all day,” Combeferre whispered, “he said he _forgot_ to have breakfast.”

Grantaire looked at Enjolras in the rear view mirror. He was pouting, chewing at his bottom lip, and glaring right back at Grantaire. “How do you _forget_ to have breakfast?” Grantaire asked, not sure if he should be surprised.

“I had more important things on my mind,” Enjolras said angrily.

“Maybe we should get him something to eat,” Grantaire said, turning to Combeferre.

Combeferre nodded. “Enjolras, what do you want to eat?”

“Can we get burgers?” he asked hopefully. “I know just the place.”

Courfeyrac didn’t get his car back before midnight, and even though Grantaire tried to blame it on Enjolras, because seriously, he’d been the one who’d insisted on going to that one particular burger place, even though he couldn’t really remember where the fuck it was.

When they’d finally had dinner, they’d realised that they’d somehow _misplaced_ Courfeyrac’s car, because they’d been following Enjolras around town and neither of them had actually remembered where exactly they’d parked it.

Both, Grantaire and Enjolras, had ended up staying at Combeferre’s that night, Enjolras still ranting about the protest and completely unwilling to stop, Grantaire too tired and too annoyed to walk all the way home. Courfeyrac had emerged from his room after a while and had joined them on Combeferre’s bed, snatching his car keys from Grantaire immediately.

“I’ll never let you borrow my car again,” Courfeyrac grumbled and poked Grantaire in the ribs, before he wiggled into the small space between Enjolras and Combeferre, which had Enjolras scooting closer to Grantaire. “You guys okay?”

“Yeah, we’re fine,” Combeferre said quietly.

“Except that this was probably the most badly planned protest we’ve ever taken part in, I mean, did you-”

“Shh,” Grantaire said, patting Enjolras’ arm, “you’ve already said everything at least twice.”

“Someone turn the lights off,” Courfeyrac mumbled.

Combeferre sat up. “You’re not sleeping in my bed.”

“Yes, we are,” Enjolras said matter-of-factly, “turn the lights off, ‘Ferre.”

“Courfeyrac, your own bed is just across the hall.”

“I don’t care, yours is more comfortable.”

Combeferre muttered something unintelligible, but went to turn off the lights nonetheless. “You’re the best,” Courfeyrac sighed as Combeferre climbed back into bed.

“You really are,” Grantaire agreed. He could make out Enjolras nodding approvingly in the darkness.

“Sometimes I don’t understand why I’m friends with you people,” Combeferre grumbled.

“Because you love us,” Courfeyrac said cheerfully.

Grantaire laughed and nearly fell off the edge of the bed. “I don’t think this bed was made for four people.”

“I believe you are correct.”

“I’m gonna fall off.”

“I have a great idea. Maybe Courfeyrac should go sleep in his own bed.”

“Enjolras, make sure Grantaire doesn’t fall off.”

An arm wrapped around Grantaire’s waist, keeping him in place. “Fine, now shut up.”

From then on, Grantaire was pretty sure he wouldn’t survive that night. Well, he did, but just barely.

They were all silent for a while, except for Courfeyrac’s fake snores, Combeferre’s occasional sighs and Enjolras’ quiet breathing, and Grantaire was slowly starting to drift off to sleep.

“Guys,” Courfeyrac suddenly mumbled into the darkness, “I think I’m in love with Jehan.”


	9. Chapter 9

“You’re going to be fine, right?” Grantaire had been hovering next to the door for nearly half an hour, because somehow he’d kept finding things to tell Enjolras and Enjolras had made no move to make him leave either.

Enjolras’ expression was a mix of amusement and irritation. “Of course.”

“Promise you’ll call if something’s wrong or... you know, if there’s any problem at all, just let me know.”

“I will,” Enjolras said, lips twitching. “You’re the one who said I’d probably be just fine on my own.”

“And you agreed.” It was ridiculous, him sticking around, even though Enjolras was perfectly fine. Enjolras had got some of his stubbornness back during the last couple of days, had started doing everything on his own, had started snapping at Grantaire whenever he’d tried to help, and obviously he hadn’t meant to hurt him, but Grantaire had started feeling like he wasn’t needed here anymore. Which he wasn’t, really.

Enjolras had even been talking to Courfeyrac about him coming back to work to help out, at least as much as he could.

“I did.” Enjolras was grinning now. “I mean, I still don’t know how to cook, but I know how to heat up a frozen pizza.”

“ Yeah, at least I don’t have to worry about you starving.”

“Right,” Enjolras said, tugging his fingers through his curls. He didn’t seem too keen on cutting his hair, and he was almost starting to look like he had when Grantaire had first met him. Grantaire couldn’t say that he didn’t like it.

At last, he managed to open the door and step outside. “Well, I’ll see you around.”

“Sure, yeah, I’ll see you soon.”

_Soon_ actually turned out to be only about six hours later, when Enjolras showed up at his flat. Grantaire had spent most of the day at his studio after he’d left Enjolras’, and now he was wearing tracksuit bottoms and a shirt that hadn’t been washed in an indecently long time, which really wouldn’t have been his first choice, had he known that Enjolras was planning on coming over.

“Did you miss me already?” Grantaire asked, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

Enjolras grinned and held up Grantaire’s phone charger. “Actually... you forgot something.”

“Oh,” Grantaire said and took it from him. He hadn’t even noticed. “Thanks for bringing it over, you really didn’t have to.”

“I was bored, so...” Enjolras shrugged. He was wearing his black hoodie again and Grantaire was starting to wonder if Enjolras was doing it on purpose.

“Do you want a cup of tea or something?” Enjolras had come all the way to his flat, he’d feel rude if he didn’t at least offer. Not that he usually had problems with being rude, so this might be an exception to do with Enjolras being, well, Enjolras. Especially because he’d had never shown up unannounced before, that was usually Grantaire’s thing.

* * *

**16 months ago.**

Grantaire hadn’t meant to go to Enjolras’. Really.

He’d just wanted to go for a walk to clear his head and he’d somehow ended up here. He wasn’t quite sure if Enjolras would be all too happy to see him, he didn’t even know where exactly they stood, which was something they should probably talk about at some point.

And, well, now seemed as good a time as any.

Grantaire had gone home with him after meetings three times during the last three months, one time after they’d run into each other in town at Grantaire’s favourite coffee shop, and then another time after a movie night at Courfeyrac’s, who didn’t live all too far away from Enjolras. It was always Enjolras who asked him to come with him, and now Grantaire was really curious to see what would happen if he just showed up.

He rang the doorbell, not sure if he should even expect Enjolras to answer. He’d known Enjolras long enough to know that he was able to withstand persistent knocking, and phone calls and stones being thrown at his bedroom window.

The intercom crackled. “Yeah?”

“It’s me,” Grantaire said. Hopefully Enjolras could tell who _me_ was.

Enjolras buzzed him in without another word and Grantaire sprinted up the stairs to his flat. The door was open a crack and he eventually found Enjolras on his sofa, a file in his lap, another one on the table, an overflowing box on the floor.

“Sit,” Enjolras said, gesturing at the other end of the sofa without looking up.

Grantaire did, wondering if he was allowed to talk or if it was better to wait for Enjolras to speak. He scratched his head and contented himself with watching Enjolras read for a while. There was a loose curl that kept falling into his eyes and Grantaire resisted the urge to lean over to brush it back for him.

Enjolras put the file aside not too much later, bestowing Grantaire with a probing glance. “So...”

“I was just wondering,” Grantaire said slowly, “this thing we do...”

Enjolras sat up, suddenly looking wary. “Yeah?”

“Do you always get to decide when I come home with you or can I just, you know, show up?”

“Like you did just now?”

“Yeah, like that,” Grantaire confirmed with a grin. He hadn’t come here with intentions, far from it, really, he’d meant to go home and fall into bed immediately. He was going to Dublin early tomorrow morning, because a couple of his paintings were going to be featured in an art exhibition there, he hadn’t packed a single thing so far and he probably wouldn’t sleep all night. He was a nervous flyer and he really wasn’t looking forward to the journey that lay ahead.

Enjolras looked at his little pile of files for a moment, then he turned back to Grantaire. “I’m really busy right now.”

“So, what you’re saying is that I don’t get to decide, only you?” Grantaire leaned towards Enjolras. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

“I think your schedule is a lot more flexible than mine.” Enjolras met him halfway to kiss him chastely. “But I suppose I could try to make time if you insist.”

Grantaire’s fingers settled in Enjolras’ hair. “What about right now, can you make time?”

“Honestly, I can’t,” Enjolras whispered against his lips.

“That’s too bad.” Grantaire kissed him one more time, caught Enjolras’ bottom lip between his teeth, which earned him a low moan, but then he pulled away.

He’d try his luck another time.

* * *

Grantaire had almost finished his commission, had spent days on end at his studio, had even slept there twice and he was really quite happy with the outcome. He’d need to adjust a couple of things here and there, but that was a task for another day.

He was starting to get hungry, because he hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast, and now the sun was already setting. He turned all the lights off, locked the door and as he turned to leave he walked right into Enjolras.

“Oh man, I’m sorry,” Grantaire mumbled, steadying Enjolras, who’d stumbled a bit when Grantaire had bumped into him. “What are you doing here?”

“I was just in the neighbourhood,” Enjolras said with a shrug.

“Really?” He couldn’t think of anything Enjolras would have to do around here. He knew that his office wasn’t too far from here, but his flat was in the other direction, so why would he come here? “Are you lost again?”

“I’m not,” Enjolras said sharply, folding his arms over his chest.

Grantaire raised his eyebrows. “Sorry, I was just asking.”

“No, I’m sorry, I just had a pretty bad day,” Enjolras mumbled. “I came to see you, but you weren’t at your flat, so I thought you might be here. Probably should have called first instead of just showing up. Are you busy?”

“I was just heading home, actually,” Grantaire said, hoping he’d somehow get Enjolras to come with him. He’d missed him the last couple of days, and now Enjolras had come to see him, something that Grantaire had wanted to do for days, it was just that he hadn’t really managed to think for a reason to drop by. “Do you want to come? I’ll make you dinner.”

“Yeah, I’d love to.” Enjolras smiled at him, a genuine, happy smile that made Grantaire’s heart flutter in his chest. “But don’t think I only came here because I’m tired of eating sandwiches every day.”

Grantaire snorted. “I should teach you how to cook, I mean, I’m pretty sure you knew how to cook _some_ things before your accident.”

“I actually tried to make pasta, but it ended up tasting really weird, I guess I just managed to fuck up the sauce somehow.”

“Poor soul, can’t even make pasta,” Grantaire muttered, which earned him a playful shove from Enjolras. “I’ll make you the greatest pasta you’ve ever had, I promise.”

“You’re a true friend.”

Grantaire laughed awkwardly, a bit lost for words. “So, how’s everything going for you?” he asked, desperately trying to find something to talk about that wasn’t their friendship, or any kind of relationship involving the two of them for that matter.

“Well, Combeferre took me to the hospital for my check-up two days ago and guess what, they told me that I still suffer from amnesia, what a revelation.” Enjolras thrust his hands into the pockets of his jacket, staring ahead sullenly. “Anyway, I started going back to work on Monday, not that I can do a lot, I just try to help out where I can, which really isn’t a lot with how little I actually know. I’ve been trying to read up on everything I’ve forgotten, but it’s just... it’s too much.”

“It’s better than nothing.” Grantaire couldn’t believe he’d just said that, but it seemed to have helped, because Enjolras was smiling again.

“I suppose you’re right,” he said slowly. “I went to the Musain with Jehan, Combeferre and Bahorel the other day, they said you were going to come, too, but you never showed up.”

Grantaire looked up at him. “Yeah, I wanted to, but I somehow got a little caught up in my work.” He’d actually thought no one would care whether he showed up or not, least of all Enjolras, but apparently he’d been wrong.

“I see.” Enjolras fell silent for a while and didn’t speak again until they’d nearly reached Grantaire’s flat. “I guess I was just really used to having you around, you know, I think I sort of missed you.”

Grantaire took a deep breath, wondering if Enjolras had any idea what he did to him when he just said things like that.

“Sorry, that sounded a bit weird,” Enjolras said quickly. “I enjoyed your company, that’s all.”

“Well,” Grantaire said, fishing his keys from his pockets, “feel free to come over anytime you’d like.” He kicked the door open with his foot and gently pushed Enjolras over the threshold. “So...”

Grantaire shrugged off his jacket and walked into his broom-closet-sized kitchen with Enjolras following at his heels. He ended up asking him to just sit down on the sofa and wait until he was done cooking, because there really wasn’t enough space.

“Next time I’ll make pasta for you,” Enjolras said when Grantaire handed him a plate. “I already owe you a lot of dinners.”

“Breakfasts, too,” Grantaire said between bites. Having Enjolras here was strange. It felt wrong, but only because he wasn’t used to this, it was too domestic, the exact opposite of what they’d had before. Grantaire wasn’t sure if he should feel guilty for wanting both.

Enjolras grinned. “How much would you hate me if I showed up here really early in the morning to make you breakfast?”

Quite frankly, Grantaire would probably hate him for less than a second. “Depends on how good your pancakes would be.”

“You’d probably hate me a lot then,” Enjolras deadpanned.

Grantaire snorted and shook his head, trying not to dwell on the image of Enjolras making him breakfast, maybe on a Sunday morning, here in his kitchen, not fully dressed yet and his hair still tousled from sleeping. Not that he’d let Enjolras cook in his kitchen, since he’d probably manage to set something on fire.

They finished their dinner in silence, sitting on opposite ends of the sofa, because Grantaire didn’t have a kitchen table.

Grantaire studied Enjolras’ face for a while. “You look sad,” Grantaire said after a while. It had taken him much too long to realise, because sadness really wasn’t an emotion that was common with Enjolras. He was stressed and angry and tired, but not sad, never sad.

“I’m not going to complain.” He hugged a pillow to his chest. “There are a lot of people who have it a lot worse than me.”

“I know, but that doesn’t change that you have problems, too. You’re allowed to have problems and you’re allowed to complain about them.”

“I don’t even know what exactly my problem is,” Enjolras said quietly. “I mean, the memory loss is an issue, obviously, it’s just... it feels so weird when I’m home alone, I guess I didn’t realise when you were there, but I...” He shrugged. “Sorry, it doesn’t make any sense.”

Grantaire had a feeling that he knew exactly what his problem was, it had probably even been the reason why he’d taken Grantaire home with him in the first place nearly two years ago. He was just feeling alone. And out of all the people Enjolras knew, he’d chosen to come here. “Stay here tonight,” Grantaire said before he’d even properly thought about it. “But don’t try to make me breakfast in the morning.”

Enjolras laughed and threw the pillow at him, but quickly grew serious again. “I don’t want to be a bother or anything, I’ll be fine, really.”

“You’re not bothering me, okay?” He threw the pillow back at Enjolras’ head. “Just stay.”

It took him a while to convince Enjolras to sleep in his bed, even though Grantaire wasn’t really looking forward to sleeping on the couch either. To be honest, he would have loved to just crawl into bed with Enjolras and hold on to him until the morning.

For some reason, he was actually sure that Enjolras wouldn’t even mind, but that was a pretty stupid thought, even for him, and he was in way too deep already.

Tomorrow, Grantaire promised himself, he’d pay Combeferre a visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry, this is a bit of a filler, to make up for it you'll get the story of how they met in the next chapter.


	10. Chapter 10

Combeferre greeted him with a smile and didn’t bat an eye when Grantaire stumbled straight into his arms. “What happened?” Combeferre asked when Grantaire hadn’t moved for about five minutes.

Grantaire only let out a low whine and stayed right where he was, wondering if Combeferre would let him hide at his flat for the rest of his life.

“Okay,” Combeferre said and slowly tugged Grantaire inside his flat, “I’m just going to assume that this is about Enjolras.” Grantaire didn’t resist when Combeferre gently pushed him onto the sofa. “So, how about I make you a cup of tea and you talk whenever you’re ready.”

Grantaire didn’t say anything for a long time, except for a mumbled _thank you_ when Combeferre handed him a huge mug of tea. There were so many things he wanted to say, he just didn’t know where to start, his thoughts were a fucking mess he didn’t seem to be able to sort out.

Combeferre was patient as always, started marking essays at some point, but looked up to check on Grantaire periodically, got him another mug of tea, then a sandwich.

“I can’t tell him,” Grantaire said eventually.

Combeferre put down his work immediately. “What exactly?”

“That we used to... you know.” He shrugged. “I just... we’re friends now, what if he hates me when I tell him, what if he-”

“He would never hate you, Grantaire, he never hated you, even if that is what you think.”

“Yeah, you keep saying that,” Grantaire mumbled and hid his face in a pillow. “But he’ll be angry because I didn’t tell him. And if I don’t tell him and he remembers, he’ll be angry as well.”

“I suppose you won’t know that for sure until it happens. Who knows when he’ll remember, this might go on for another couple of weeks and I really don’t like watching you torture yourself like this.”

Grantaire let out a deep sigh. “Please tell me what to do.”

“I really can’t,” Combeferre said firmly. “But let’s look at your options, shall we? So, either you don’t tell him and you’re looking at... let’s say a couple of weeks of peace and pining, or-”

“I’m not pining,” Grantaire grumbled angrily.

Combeferre snorted and took off his glasses. “Yes, you are.”

“Whatever.”

“Anyway, your other option would be to tell him and to explain _why_ you didn’t tell him and he might be angry for a bit, but you may also get the chance to talk things through. Which is something you probably should have done a very long time ago, because you two clearly have communication issues, but it’s really not my place to get involved,” Combeferre said as he cleaned his glasses.

“What do you mean?” Grantaire asked. Sure, they’d never talked about their relationship, but there hadn’t been anything to talk about. It had worked just fine for both of them, at least in a way.

“Well, whatever it was that you had with Enjolras before his accident wasn’t what you _really_ wanted, was it?”

“Doesn’t matter, it was what _he_ wanted.”

“How can you be so sure?” Combeferre inquired. “You never asked him if he wanted more, did you?”

“Well, I’m pretty sure he would have told me, I mean, this is Enjolras we’re talking about.”

“That’s exactly why I’m not so sure if he would have told you.”

Grantaire fell silent. Sure, Enjolras wasn’t exactly good at relationship things, he’d said so himself on multiple occasions, but Grantaire didn’t want to allow himself to even think about the possibility that Enjolras might have actually had feelings for him. Enjolras didn’t do feelings.

“If I were you,” Combeferre said after a while, “I’d tell him.”

“What if he thinks that I... have expectations.”

Combeferre put his glasses back on and shrugged. “Tell him you don’t.”

“What if I do?”

“Oh, you do?”

“Not exactly, I mean, he barely knows me, right?” This was all way too complicated, there was no way he’d manage to figure this out somehow. “But nothing has changed for me, I still...”

Combeferre scooted closer and wordlessly took his hand. “It’s going to be alright.”

“Ah, ‘Ferre, I’m not so sure.”

“I am.”

Grantaire wished he could muster that kind of conviction. He thought of all the afternoons and evenings and nights he’d spent with Combeferre, talking about the most trivial things, tracing the tattoos on his arms, listening as he read to him.

Grantaire had never had feelings for Combeferre, he’d only been a distraction at first, nothing more. At some point they’d started to spend their nights talking about more serious matters and in the end they’d been friends more than anything else.

“Thank you,” Grantaire said quietly. “For everything.”

Combeferre only smiled.

“So, how’s your love life? What happened to the pretty redhead?” Grantaire asked, wriggling his eyebrows.

Combeferre rolled his eyes. “Let’s not.” His phone dinged and he picked it up. “It’s Courfeyrac, they’re at the Corinthe.” He looked at him questioningly. “Do you want to go?”

“Not really.”

“Enjolras might be there.”

It was unbelievable that this was all it took to sway him. “Okay yeah, maybe we should go.” Grantaire sighed as he got off the sofa. “Leaving Courfeyrac there without supervision really isn’t the greatest idea anyway.”

* * *

**5 and a half years ago.**

When Grantaire staggered into the Corinthe, it was pretty much deserted. He’d spent the better part of the night stumbling from pub to pub, having a drink here and a drink there, and he really wasn’t in the mood to go home just yet.

He looked around the room, spotting a group of three guys in the back. He recognized one of them as Courfeyrac, the guy who’d taken him home after a party here at this very establishment a couple of months ago. He’d got very drunk with Jehan and Montparnasse, but at some point Montparnasse had dragged Jehan away with him and so Grantaire had been left to find himself new drinking buddies for the night, which had been why he’d flopped down at Courfeyrac’s table, where he’d been welcomed most cheerfully.

He got himself a drink at the bar and then made his way over to their table.

“...can’t even believe this shit, why would they-” Courfeyrac obviously was ranting about something, tearing flyers to pieces and scattering them all over the table. “Sit down, man,” he said and pulled a chair out for Grantaire. “Guys, this is Grantaire, Grantaire, this is Joly and that’s Bossuet.”

Grantaire nodded at them and sat down. “What are we ranting about?” he asked, looking at the shreds of paper in front of Courfeyrac.

“Oh, they’ve invited some CEO to speak at the university and-”

Joly didn’t get to finish, though, because he was interrupted by Courfeyrac. “And he’s a misogynistic, homophobic fucktwat,” he said as he ripped apart one of the bigger shreds and threw them in the air, “everyone knows how badly their employees are treated, everyone knows that he’s full of shit, why the fuck would they invite him?”

“Maybe you should stage a protest,” Grantaire said jokingly and took a sip from his drink.

Courfeyrac’s eyes were glowing. “We really should, Joly, call Enjolras, he’d totally be on board with that.”

Grantaire bit his lip, refraining from telling them that a protest would change nothing at all, because Courfeyrac’s enthusiasm was actually somewhat adorable, and Grantaire didn’t want to be the one to ruin his good mood.  

“I’m not going to call him _now_ ,” Joly said when Courfeyrac wouldn’t stop looking at him expectantly.

“Fine, then I’ll call him,” Courfeyrac said and pulled out his phone.

Bossuet snatched it away and immediately dropped it. “Honestly, he’s going to murder you, he’s probably still working on his presentation and...” He trailed off, picked up Courfeyrac’s phone and managed to hit his head on the table before he resurfaced.

“Are you okay?” Joly asked, examining Bossuet’s bald head.

“Fine, I’m fine,” he said quickly. “Where are our chips?”

“You ordered chips?” Grantaire asked incredulously. “Has no one told you not to order food here?”

“Ah, come on, it can’t be that bad.”

It actually was that bad. Joly looked like he was about to cry, Bossuet grumbled something about needing at least ten more drinks to eat those chips, and Courfeyrac shook his head with a sad expression. “I didn’t think the stories were true.”

“Let’s go somewhere else, I’m really hungry.”

They got up, leaving behind their chips, surrounded by the remains of the flyers Courfeyrac had ripped apart. On their way out, Courfeyrac grabbed one of the crayons that were usually used for the big chalkboard outside.

“What are you doing?” Grantaire asked, trying to steady Courfeyrac when he tripped over the threshold.

“Sshhh.” Courfeyrac clamped his hand over Grantaire’s mouth. “We have to be stealthy.”

“No, seriously, what are you doing?” Joly asked as Courfeyrac started writing on the wall.

“We have to warn the people,” Courfeyrac hissed and scrawled _order food at your own risk_ in tiny letters next to the door.

“Courfeyrac, that’s not a chalkboard.”

“Oh for god’s sake...”

He quickly dropped the crayon on a windowpane and grabbed Bossuet by the hand. “Guys, _guys_ , we have to run, we have to...”

Bossuet tripped over one of the flower pots by the entrance as Courfeyrac tried to drag him off, cursing loudly. Joly stumbled after them, giggling. “Come on, Grantaire.”

Grantaire shook his head as he followed them. “So stealthy.”

* * *

Grantaire sullenly stared at his drink, trying to ignore the way Enjolras seemed to be busy smiling at some guy at the bar. Combeferre kept throwing him worried glances, but didn’t otherwise say anything. Grantaire could tell that he felt bad for convincing him to come.

The evening hadn’t started out all too bad, they’d had drinks at the Corinthe, all of them together for the first time in weeks, then they’d moved on to a small club down the road. Marius and Cosette had left early and Grantaire was starting to think that he should have done the same.

He had, however, taken to watching Enjolras as he got into a discussion about the minimum wage with Feuilly and then started joking around with Joly and Bossuet.

Later, Bahorel and Courfeyrac had dragged him off towards the bar, where they’d left him talking to some guy Grantaire had never seen before. Enjolras had eventually returned, but had seemed a little distracted from then on.

“Enjolras,” Courfeyrac said suddenly, grinning as he followed Enjolras’ gaze. “Are you flirting with someone?”

“No, I’m not,” Enjolras said quickly, meeting Grantaire’s eyes for a split-second.

Grantaire chose to pretend that not everyone around him was suddenly looking at him.

Courfeyrac shrugged. “Hey, it’s fine, man, I mean we know your history of picking up random people at clubs.”

Enjolras frowned. “Wait, what?”

Grantaire froze. _Oh, shit._

“Grantaire didn’t tell you?” Courfeyrac asked, throwing Grantaire a confused glance. Jehan’s hand dropped on Grantaire’s arm, squeezing lightly. It didn’t help in the slightest.

“Tell me what exactly?”

“Nothing,” Courfeyrac tried, probably just now realising that he’d fucked up.

“Courf?”

“Well, um, how you guys met?”

 _Shit, shit, shit._ Grantaire swallowed hard. This conversation really wasn’t going well for him.

Enjolras bestowed Grantaire with a pointed glance. “As a matter of fact, he didn’t.”

Grantaire gulped down the rest of his drink, wondering if it was too late to just run away.

“How about you tell me now?”

* * *

**A little over 5 years ago.**

Grantaire hated clubs. Actually, he’d wanted to go straight to bed after his shift at the restaurant, really, it’s probably what he should have done. Jehan had sent him a very vague text, telling him that he needed to come, followed by a couple of indecipherable messages. Grantaire had come to the conclusion that Jehan might need someone to take him home.

He walked around the club, scanning the crowd for a familiar face. He saw one of Montparnasse’s friends, but the last time Grantaire had come across Jehan he hadn’t seemed too happy with Montparnasse, so Grantaire didn’t even bother checking with his friends. He’d find Jehan at some point.

Or so he thought.

He kept wandering around aimlessly, cursing the sheer size of this goddamned club, and the horrid music and the flashing lights. He made his way through the crowd and found a quiet hallway that led to the bathrooms. Grantaire was just about to pull out his phone to text Jehan and ask him where the fuck he was, when someone stumbled right into his arms.

“Ahh, I’m sorry, so sorry.” The guy was still leaning against him, he was tall, but slender, so Grantaire didn’t really have trouble supporting his weight. “Who are you?”

“I’m Grantaire,” he said, looking up at the quite drunk, but also stunningly handsome guy, “and who are you?”

“I can’t find my friends,” he whined, blond locks flying around his head when he whipped his head around as if they were about to appear behind him.

“That’s one hell of a name,” Grantaire mumbled, but the guy only blinked at him, looking a little confused. “Are you okay?” he asked when he just kept staring down at him.

“Yeah, sure.” He swayed slightly. “I didn’t even want to go out, but they made me, it’s my birthday, you know.”

“Well then, happy birthday, goldilocks,” Grantaire said, lightly tugging at one of the guy’s curls.

He frowned at the nickname, but wasn’t otherwise bothered, only leaned a little closer. “You have very pretty eyes.”

“Right,” Grantaire whispered, trying very hard to ignore how close they actually were. He still needed to find Jehan, he had to remember that, he couldn’t just make out with some random guy and forget about everything else, even if said guy was pretty much the most handsome human being Grantaire had ever laid eyes on.

Really, he could just push him away, he could do that, but he really didn’t want to, he wanted to kiss this guy, and not just that. Fingers crept into his hair and their lips met in a sloppy kiss. Grantaire forgot about Jehan immediately, but under these circumstances he’d probably even forgive him for that.

They only pulled apart a few minutes later, minutes of fierce kissing and teeth grazing against his bottom lip and fingers tugging at his hair, and Grantaire hardly remembered how to breathe, all he could think about was that this might have actually been the best kiss of his entire life. He should kiss drunken strangers more often.

His new acquaintance buried his face in Grantaire’s hair for a second, trying to remain steady, but still swaying a bit when he bent down to whisper in Grantaire’s ear. “You should come to my place.”

Oh, it was tempting, very tempting. Grantaire sighed. “No, I really shouldn’t.”

“Why not?” He made a disappointed face that made him look no less beautiful.

“Because you’re pretty drunk and your friends are probably looking for you,” Grantaire said, but didn’t let go of him, “and I’m actually looking for a friend, too.”

The guy bit his lip.

“I’ll help you find your friends, how about that,” Grantaire offered, because really, he couldn’t let this gorgeous creature wander off all by himself.

“Yeah, later,” he mumbled and leaned in to kiss Grantaire again.

Right, _later_ , later was great, later would work just fine.

“Enjolras?”

Why the hell did that name sound so familiar?

They broke apart again and Grantaire looked at the quite amused faces of his stranger’s, well, Enjolras’ friends. One of them was, as it happened, Courfeyrac, the other one was a guy Grantaire vaguely recognised as the dude he’d dubbed the _hot future librarian_. He didn’t know him, but he worked at the front desk of the library and Grantaire had come across him there a couple of times before.

“I think I found your friends,” Grantaire deadpanned. Enjolras still had an arm slung around him and was looking first at him, then back at his friends.

“Hi,” Enjolras said eventually, waving at them awkwardly.

“I think it’s time to go home,” hot future librarian said.

Courfeyrac grinned. “Unless you want to stay with Grantaire.”

“You know each other?”

“We do,” Grantaire confirmed and gently handed Enjolras over to his friend. “And I think he’s right. Time to go.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you,” Enjolras slurred and shook Grantaire’s hand, which had Courfeyrac crying with laughter.

“Well,” Courfeyrac said to Grantaire when his friend had dragged Enjolras away, “at least he had a good birthday after all. He didn’t want to come, you know, he doesn’t like going out, he always says he has more important things to do, there’s always work, blah blah, but once he’s had a drink or two he doesn’t care anymore. Which is probably why he never drinks.” Courfeyrac shrugged and patted Grantaire on the back. “Anyway, what are you doing here?”

“A friend of mine asked me to come,” Grantaire said, thinking he should probably really go look for Jehan now.

“Got a bit sidetracked, didn’t you?” Courfeyrac mused.

Grantaire tugged his fingers through his hair nervously. “Yeah, a bit,” he said quietly. “I should be off, but... I’ll see you around, I suppose.” Him and hopefully Enjolras as well.

“We’ll be at the Musain on Monday evening,” Courfeyrac said as if he knew exactly what Grantaire had been thinking. “You should drop by.”

“Maybe I will.” Oh, he most definitely would.

* * *

Courfeyrac retold the story of how he’d found Enjolras attached to the lips of some stranger who’d then turned out to be Grantaire, Enjolras listened, his eyes growing wider with every word Courfeyrac was saying.

Grantaire deemed it highly unlikely that he’d manage to make an unnoticed escape now.

Combeferre came to his rescue by quickly changing the topic after Courfeyrac had finished his story and was dragged off by quietly fuming Jehan. Grantaire knew it wasn’t Courfeyrac’s fault, since it was him who’d kept this particular story from Enjolras. And that had happened years ago, there was no reasonable explanation as to why he hadn’t told him in the first place, if anything it would have made for a funny anecdote.

Grantaire didn’t miss that Enjolras steadily kept his eyes on him for the next half hour, until he eventually made his way over to him and grabbed him by the sleeve. “Can I talk to you for a second?”


	11. Chapter 11

Grantaire followed Enjolras outside, thinking about Combeferre's encouraging nod just before they'd left, wondering if he could do this. He couldn’t. He still wanted to run away.

Once they were outside, Enjolras didn’t lose any time. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Oh boy, did he sound pissed off. “You always kept saying that you just... I don’t know, that we just ran into each other at some point?”

“Well, we sort of did, I mean, I didn’t know you were friends with Courfeyrac or anyone and-”

“What Courfeyrac just told me really isn’t something I would categorise as _running into each other_ ,” Enjolras said gruffly.

“Enjolras, it’s not a big deal, okay?” Grantaire suddenly felt terribly exasperated, why the hell was Enjolras even _this_ angry. “Why do you even care so much?”

“Because I thought...”

“Yes?” A raindrop landed on Grantaire’s cheek. He wiped it away, looking at Enjolras expectantly.

Enjolras pursed his lips and shrugged. “I didn’t...”

“Yeah?”

“Please stop, you’re making my head hurt.”

“I’m not even doing anything,” Grantaire grumbled. He was starting to wish he’d taken his jacket.

Enjolras glared at him, completely unfazed by the drop of rain that landed on his nose. “Yes, you are. You’re being obnoxious.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, just say what your problem is.” He wanted to go back inside, no, in fact he wanted to go home and curl up in his bed and stay there for the rest of his life, because he didn’t see himself fit to deal with this completely ridiculous situation anymore. “Just say it, you’re not usually holding back.”

“I just don’t understand why you kept it from me, that’s all.”

“Oh, well...” Grantaire shrugged helplessly. “It didn’t seem important, I mean, it didn’t mean anything.” At least not to Enjolras. It probably wasn’t the best idea to say _that_ out loud.

“I see.” Enjolras’ face was so completely devoid of all emotion and for a second Grantaire thought that it might have been the wrong thing to say. Grantaire shivered. “Let’s go back inside,” Enjolras mumbled eventually.

It wasn’t how their fights usually ended, because Enjolras really wasn’t one to give in like this. “Sure,” Grantaire said slowly. He was only planning on getting his jacket, then he’d go home. He’d had more than enough emotional turmoil for a lifetime.

Grantaire wasn’t surprised that Enjolras didn’t randomly show up at his flat after that evening anymore. He didn’t call either, and Grantaire couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d messed up pretty horribly.

He nearly got on the bus to Enjolras’ twice, and actually did get on the bus another time, but went straight back home instead of walking down the road to Enjolras’ flat. He almost went to Combeferre’s again, too, even though Grantaire knew  that he wouldn’t have anything new to say to him. He eventually settled on visiting Jehan at the bookstore he worked at.

It was one of the many bookshops crowding around university, where students spent the last of their money on overpriced textbooks. Grantaire found the shop empty, except for Jehan, who was typing away on his laptop, probably writing an article for one of the newspapers he did freelance work for. The bookshop’s owner was nowhere in sight and was probably holed up in his office as usual.

“What are you writing?” Grantaire asked, leaning against the counter.

Jehan looked up at him and smiled sweetly. “A novel about how you and Enjolras are fucking morons.”

“Ah, and how’s that going?” Grantaire walked around the counter and sat down on one of the empty chairs.

“Very well, actually, you constantly keep giving me ideas,” Jehan said and slammed his laptop shut with a little too much enthusiasm. “He was here yesterday, you know?”

No, Grantaire wasn’t going to ask what they talked about, he wasn’t, really, because that would be nosy and Grantaire wasn’t nose, he really- “What did he want?”

Jehan’s smile spread into an evil grin. “Oh, he wanted to talk about you.”

“Oh, did he?” Grantaire asked, failing at trying not to sound like an overexcited toddler on his first trip to the zoo.

“Yeah, as I said, he _wanted_ to.” Jehan shrugged and absent-mindedly undid his bun and started braiding his hair. “He didn’t, though.”

Grantaire didn’t quite understand. “Why not?”

“Because he’s a moron,” Jehan said nonchalantly.

“So you don’t even know that he wanted to talk about me for sure?”

“Oh, please, he was here to talk about you, just like you’re here to talk about him, but instead of talking about him we’re talking about him talking about you, which really isn’t getting us anywhere.”

Grantaire stared at him for a long moment. “Did you smoke pot again?”

Jehan only rolled his eyes and reached for his coffee mug. “Of course not,” he said, making a point in looking terribly offended as he fixed his braid with a ribbon.

Grantaire chuckled and grabbed a random book, which he started reading, deciding that he’d stay until Jehan made him leave. Which would be never. He really wouldn’t mind spending the rest of the day here, since Jehan was marvellous company.

* * *

**3 years and 11 months ago.**

It was one of those nights when Grantaire didn’t even know the name of the bar he’d ended up at or what kind of drink he was having. He hadn’t had a particularly good day, but good days were a rare occasion for him in any case, and he’d long ago given up on finding an excuse to get mindlessly drunk, he just did.

He tried to ignore the buzzing of his phone for the longest time until he decided he might as well check who was calling.

Grantaire answered immediately when he saw that it was Jehan who’d kept calling him. Two minutes later he was on his way to Jehan’s dorm, where he was greeted with a bone crushing hug.

When Jehan still hadn’t let go of him after five minutes, Grantaire withdrew reluctantly. “What’s wrong?” Grantaire asked as he stepped into Jehan’s tiny room. Jehan hadn’t sounded nearly as sad on the phone as he looked right now.

Jehan handed him a pair of scissors and sat down on the floor, tugging at his braid. “Cut it off.”

Grantaire shut the door and went to sit down next to him. Maybe he was too drunk to understand what was going on, then again, he’d only had a couple of drinks, so it was probably Jehan who wasn’t really making sense. “You want me to cut off your hair?”

“Yes,” Jehan said, his voice suddenly very calm. “Please.”

Grantaire lightly ran his fingers over his braided hair. “Why?”

“Because...” He shrugged. Grantaire was pretty sure Jehan did have his reasons, but wasn’t willing to share them.

Grantaire wouldn’t press him for answers, but he wasn’t entirely sure if he was the best person for this job. “Maybe you should ask someone who hasn’t just stumbled out of a bar. You know, someone with steadier hands?”

“You’re an artist, your hands should be steady enough.”

Grantaire looked down at his hands. They weren’t shaking, true, but still, someone else might be a better choice. Joly, for example. No one had steadier hands than he did. But Jehan hadn’t called Joly, he’d called him, knowing full well that the chances that Grantaire would be sober were minimal. Grantaire sighed and took up the scissors.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, even though he knew that once Jehan had set his mind to something, it was pretty impossible to convince him otherwise.

“Yes, I’m sure, please don’t ask me if I’m high, okay?” His voice had an edge to it that Grantaire had come to know very well during the last couple months. Jehan had slowly but surely withdrawn from Montparnasse, and to Grantaire it had been a mostly unconscious choice to spend more time with Jehan instead of ‘Parnasse from then on.

The work Grantaire made of Jehan’s hair was sloppy and he was hoping that Jehan would find someone to fix it the next day. He was actually pretty sure that Cosette would be able to fix the mess he’d made.

Jehan ran his hand through his hair, smiling brightly at Grantaire. “Thank you,” he said happily and pressed a kiss to Grantaire’s cheek.

“Sometimes I’m honestly worried about you.”

“Don’t be,” Jehan said lightly and pulled Grantaire to his feet and over to his bed.

“Are you going to tell me what brought this on?” Grantaire asked when Jehan had flicked off the lights and they were staring up the constellations of Cassiopeia and Pegasus and Orion that Grantaire had painted on the ceiling with glow-in-the-dark paint.

“Well,” Jehan started, playing with Grantaire’s curls while he was collecting his thoughts, “I ran into Courfeyrac a couple of days ago and he asked me if I wanted to have coffee with him.”

Grantaire grinned. He knew Courfeyrac had been pining after Jehan for months and apparently he’d finally had the guts to do something about it. Courfeyrac usually wasn’t shy, far from it, he just went for it and kept saying he had nothing to lose anyway, but it seemed that he was pretty serious about Jehan. “And what did you say?”

“That I would think about it.”

“Please ask Cosette to fix what I’ve done to your hair before you go out on a date with him,” Grantaire said flatly.

Jehan giggled. “Sure, I will. Anyway, I haven’t even decided what to do.”

“Yes, you have.”

“Yeah, I have,” Jehan mumbled with a sigh.

* * *

“Are you really going to sit here and read...” Jehan tilted his head to see the title of the book Grantaire was reading. “An Introduction to Linguistics, seriously Grantaire?”

Grantaire looked up. “Why not?”

“Forget that I said anything, follow your dreams,” Jehan mumbled and reopened his laptop.

It wasn’t that Grantaire was so terribly interested in linguistics, he just needed something to do that would distract him from thinking about Enjolras and since Jehan wasn’t much help in that matter, he’d taken to desperate measures.

A couple of customers came and went, but Grantaire hardly noticed. He eventually made it to the art history section, where he stayed until Jehan appeared next to him. “We’re closing, are you going to buy that?”

“Nope, sorry to disappoint,” Grantaire said and put the book he’d been reading back to where he’d taken it from.

“You’re lucky that we’re friends,” Jehan grumbled and walked back to the counter, where he started to pack up his belongings.

“I know I am,” Grantaire said dramatically.

Jehan grinned and Grantaire was pretty sure that he knew that there was too much truth behind it to be a mere joke. “Why don’t you come have dinner with us tonight? Courfeyrac promised he’d make lasagne, there’ll be more than enough.”

“He probably wants to be alone with you, though.”

Jehan raised his eyebrows. “He can be alone with me afterwards.”

“I’ll tell him you said that,” Grantaire said and poked Jehan in the ribs.

“No, you won’t,” Jehan chirped and quickly went to say goodbye to the shop’s owner, before he dragged Grantaire out the door.

“Courf?” Jehan called as he led Grantaire into their flat. “Grantaire’s having dinner with us.”

Courfeyrac appeared in the kitchen door, his eyes wide and a splotch of tomato sauce on his cheek. “Fantastic,” he said, a wide grin spreading over his face. “I brought Enjolras. He’s having dinner with us, too.”

As if he’d been waiting for his cue, Enjolras appeared behind Courfeyrac, but he didn’t look nearly as excited as Courfeyrac. If Grantaire didn’t know any better, he’d think that Courfeyrac and Jehan had somehow set this up, but Jehan couldn’t have known that Grantaire would show up at the bookshop, so he had to believe that this was nothing but a really strange coincidence.

A couple of awkward _hellos_ later, Grantaire was seated on the sofa together with Jehan and Enjolras, who were busy discussing an article Jehan had written a couple of months ago that Enjolras had found in some old magazine.

Grantaire eventually mumbled something about seeing if Courfeyrac needed help and retreated to the kitchen.  Courfeyrac was making a salad and his lasagna was already in the oven.

“Do you need any help?” Grantaire asked, eyeing the bottle of wine on the counter with a little too much interest.

“No, I’ll manage,” Courfeyrac answered cheerfully. “I didn’t know you were coming, too,” he mumbled after a while, “I mean, I know you guys had a bit of a row, and I know that it’s partly my fault, but-”

“Actually, it’s my fault, because I didn’t tell him in the first place, I was just... I don’t know, I guess was too scared to tell him, you know?”

Courfeyrac abandoned his peppers and turned around. “Because you thought he’d find out that there was something else going on between you guys?”

Grantaire shrugged. He might as well admit it. “Yeah, I just didn’t know how to tell him.”

Courfeyrac nodded understandingly and started eating leftover bits of mozzarella. “How long has that thing been going on?”

“About one and a half years.”

Courfeyrac made a choking noise. “That’s... longer than I thought.”

Grantaire only sighed, wondering at what point everything had started going so horribly wrong for him. He honestly didn’t have a good answer. Maybe it had been the moment Enjolras had first stumbled into his arms, or maybe the day he’d first gone home with him after a meeting.

Dinner was awkward, to say the least, mostly because Grantaire didn’t actually feel like talking to Enjolras, and Enjolras seemed to feel the same way about him, which was why Courfeyrac and Jehan tried to make pleasant small talk that turned into Grantaire and Enjolras snapping at each other for no reason whatsoever. Enjolras was quite obviously still angry at Grantaire and Grantaire was just pretty disgruntled in general.

He got that Enjolras was mad because he’d lied to him, but it wasn’t even as bad as all the other things he’d kept from him. Which was all the more reason _not_ to talk to Enjolras about anything.

“Do me a favour?” Courfeyrac said as he walked them to the door. Grantaire didn’t miss the warning glance Jehan shot Courfeyrac right then. _We’re not interfering_ , it said. “Um, just... talk to each other, maybe?”

Jehan pursed his lips, neither Grantaire nor Enjolras said a word.

“Yeah, well, thanks for dinner,” Grantaire mumbled eventually. He was very keen on getting out of here of a sudden.

“Yes, thank you, it was delicious,” Enjolras agreed.

Jehan hugged them both before they walked out the door. Grantaire made his way towards the bus stop, Enjolras walking next to him in silence, because his flat was in the same direction.

“So...” Grantaire said after a while, when the silence between them was getting too uncomfortable. “How are you?”

“Fine,” Enjolras said curtly.

He probably shouldn’t have expected anything else. “Good... that’s good.”

“Yeah,” Enjolras mumbled, then they walked on in silence.

“Well, we talked to each other, I guess Courfeyrac should be pleased.”

Enjolras only nodded, his jaw set, eyes fixed straight ahead stubbornly. Grantaire thought he should probably just give up right now.

“Can I ask you something?” Enjolras’ voice was so quiet that Grantaire wasn’t even sure if he’d imagined him saying something for a second.

Enjolras’ tone had nothing about it that would indicate that an argument was to follow, so Grantaire shrugged. “Sure.”

A smile tugged at Enjolras’ lips. “How was it?”

Grantaire threw him a confused glance. “How was what?”

“The kiss,” Enjolras mumbled, “you know, when we met. I’m just curious, I mean...”

Grantaire was almost sure that Enjolras was blushing and that alone nearly made him laugh out loud, but he thought that wouldn’t exactly help his situation, so he settled for saying, “Oh... that.”

“That bad, huh?” Enjolras asked, chuckling.

“No, actually it wasn’t bad at all.” It was hard to explain without sounding like he was completely and utterly in love with him. Grantaire shrugged. “You’re a pretty good kisser, even when you’re drunk.”

Enjolras raised his eyebrows. “Even when I’m drunk? Does that mean you’ve also kissed me when I wasn’t drunk?”

“I might have,” Grantaire said, spotting his bus as it turned around the corner. “Well, that’s my bus. I’ll see you around.”  And with that he sprinted off towards the bus stop, not waiting for Enjolras’ answer.

Maybe he’d be able to fix this after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, I meant to update this days ago, but a lot of stuff came up, sorry it took so long.  
> (Also... sorry that there isn't an e/r flashback in this, but I really like the idea of Jehan and Grantaire being bffs or something) (I also really like the idea of Jehan randomly cutting off his hair just because he feels like he needs a change)


	12. Chapter 12

It was funny, Grantaire thought, how often he found himself on the steps of Enjolras’ building, without ever having had the intention to actually go there. Sometimes he’d go for walks, just to clear his mind, and then suddenly he was halfway across town.

It was Sunday morning, Grantaire had got coffee and croissants and was now contemplating actually ringing the doorbell, instead of just sitting on the steps and waiting for the coffee to get cold.

They’d talked, even though it had only been a couple of sentences, and then they’d met at the Musain, and then they’d all been invited to Bahorel’s and they’d talked again, although Grantaire had noticed that Enjolras had been acting somewhat weird. He’d been looking at him when he thought Grantaire wouldn’t notice, and every time Grantaire had looked back at him, questioningly, probing. It had always resulted in Enjolras quickly averting his gaze and Grantaire had been starting to think that maybe he’d gone a little too far when he’d let it slip that there might have been more kisses than just the one Enjolras knew about. That maybe he’d made Enjolras uncomfortable.

Showing up unannounced probably wasn’t the best idea, then, but Grantaire was sure they could be friends, and only that. It probably was for the best after all. Grantaire could _just_ be friends with him, it’s what they’d been for a long time, and he’d rather have that than awkward silences and silly fights.

He was distracted from his musings when a pair of legs appeared next to him, then Enjolras sat down beside him, a smile tugging at his lips. “Finding you sitting in front of my flat hasn’t got any less creepy since our days at university, you know?” he said lightly.

* * *

**5 years ago.**

“I’m honestly not sure if telling you to stop would do any good,” Enjolras grumbled.

Grantaire was inclined to agree. He knew that it was only a matter of time until Enjolras would get so pissed off that he’d hit Grantaire in the face. Grantaire had kept showing up at the meetings Enjolras held with his friends at the Musain at least once a week, and at first he’d only listened, then he’d starting stating his opinion as loudly and obnoxiously as he could, just to provoke a reaction from Enjolras. And that had worked remarkably well.

He’d somehow got the impression that Enjolras would very much like to forget their little encounter a couple of weeks ago, but Grantaire sure as hell wouldn’t give up that easily. So, he’d thought, maybe it was time for a different course of action.

“Stop doing what exactly?” Grantaire asked, blinking up at him innocently.

“Being annoying,” Enjolras grumbled. “How do you even know where I live?”

“I asked Courfeyrac.” Courfeyrac had been exceptionally eager to tell him.

Enjolras huffed angrily. Grantaire was pretty sure that poor Courfeyrac would get a call from Enjolras later on. “Well, what do you want?”

“I brought you coffee,” Grantaire said and held up one of the paper cups he had sitting next to him on the step.

“Thank you,” Enjolras said, still looking rather grumpy. He took a sip anyway, but wrinkled his nose.

Grantaire produced a packet of sugar from his pocket.

“That’s better.” Enjolras took it and sat down next to him. “Do you have a biscuit in there, too?”

“No, sadly I don’t, but I’ll remember to bring one next time.”

Enjolras looked at him incredulously. “Next time?”

“Yeah, or we could just go out for coffee... together, you know, that might be nice.”

Enjolras fingers were tapping against his cup restlessly. At least he hadn’t shouted _no_ immediately, at least he was considering. “I don’t date,” Enjolras said eventually.

“Does I don’t date refer to all people or only to people called Grantaire?” he asked, because, well, there was a difference.

“Grantaire, this has nothing to do with you, I’m not dating _anyone_ , and well, I suppose that also includes you.”

“Why not?” He wasn’t trying to be nosy, but a guy like Enjolras could pretty much have anyone he wanted in a heartbeat, Grantaire honestly couldn’t imagine that anyone would ever say no to him, so he didn’t quite understand why he wouldn’t make use of that.

Enjolras shrugged. “I don’t have the time.”

“You’re really that busy?” Grantaire frowned. “I mean, you have to admit that we had fun the other day.”

“I agree, but that doesn’t change anything,” Enjolras said with a sigh. He sounded like he couldn’t believe he actually had to explain this.

Grantaire bit his lip. “Well, should you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.”

Enjolras snorted. “I’ll be sure to let you know, but don’t get your hopes up.” He stood up, smiling at Grantaire for the first time since they’d met. “Thanks for the coffee, I’m sure I’ll see you at the Musain tomorrow night.”

“Obviously, I wouldn’t pass up a chance to rip your idealistic opinions to shreds.”

“Fantastic,” Enjolras mumbled. “Have a good day, Grantaire.”

The next day they were back to arguing and it didn’t take long for Grantaire to realise that Enjolras and him would probably never get along. That, however, didn’t change anything about the fact that Grantaire was starting to fall more and more in love with him.

* * *

Grantaire looked at Enjolras for a long moment, his eyes narrowed. “Who told you that?”

“Who told me what?” Enjolras asked, his confusion written plainly all over his face.

“That I used to do that. Who told you?” There was only a handful of people who knew, Grantaire was sure, maybe Courfeyrac had mentioned it, possibly Combeferre, but Grantaire really couldn’t imagine how something like that would come up in a casual conversation.

“Oh,” was all Enjolras managed at first. “I... I saw you sitting here and I just... I don’t even know why I said it, no one told me, I just...”

“Oh my god, you remembered.” He gripped Enjolras by his shoulders to make him look at him. “What else do you remember?”

Enjolras stared back at him, his eyes wide. “I don’t know, nothing... just that I’ve seen you sit outside my building before.” Enjolras shrugged. “You brought me coffee.”

“I did,” Grantaire confirmed and held up the cups. “Croissants, too.”

Enjolras shook his head. “No, I mean back then.”

“Oh... yeah.”

“And you asked me out.”

Grantaire laughed nervously. “Ah, yeah, I guess I did. I mean, that was a couple of weeks after we’d met and I thought you might want to. It doesn’t matter. Aren’t you supposed to call your doctor or something?” Seriously, he should probably take Enjolras back to the hospital to have him checked out or something.

“I’m not sure, it’s not like I remember everything, it’s just this one very small detail.” Enjolras tugged his fingers through his hair, visibly confused.

“Well, you can always call Joly,” Grantaire suggested, because surely they had to do _something_.

“Yeah, yeah, I should do that.” Enjolras scrambled to his feet. “Do you want to come upstairs? I was going to get breakfast, but...”

“Right, sure.” He followed Enjolras upstairs, listening as he called Joly, picking at one of the croissants he’d brought.

Enjolras took the other one with a smile when he’d ended the call. “He said he’d talk to one of his colleagues, it’s a good sign that I remembered something, obviously, but it’s still hard to tell when the rest will come back.” He stared down at his croissant, then he added, “Or how much of it will come back.”

“Well, at least you have one memory of how I made a complete fool myself, that’s better than nothing,” Grantaire muttered, trying not to think too much about what a stupid idiot he’d been back then.

Enjolras chuckled. “Right... anyway,” he said and got to his feet, “there’s something I wanted to ask you.”

“Yeah?” Grantaire asked warily, watching as Enjolras vanished and returned with a small, framed painting, which he handed to Grantaire.

“I found this at my office the other day, it’s one of yours, right?”

* * *

**A little less than 2 years ago.**

“You sold one _already_?” Grantaire couldn’t believe this. No one, least of all him, could be this lucky. The fact that some of his paintings were on display in a gallery, an actual gallery, one of the ones downtown, one of the ones people actually went to, was pretty remarkable. And now someone had bought one of them?

André, the owner’s son, only shrugged. “They’re damn good paintings. Dad said we’ll have a couple of open spaces next month if you’re interested.”

“I... yeah, sure.” He couldn’t believe this. Maybe he’d win the lottery tomorrow. Maybe Enjolras would ask him out the day after. Actually, no, there was no way he’d be _that_ lucky.

“Great. He probably won’t be around until next week, a friend of his from Italy is visiting, but I’ll let him know that you’re interested.”

“Thanks André, I appreciate it,” Grantaire said, still not quite sure how to feel. It was just _one_ painting, and that was it, then again, someone had spent money on his work, so maybe he should allow himself to be a tiny little bit proud of himself.

He practically waltzed into the Musain twenty Minutes later, hoping he’d find someone to share the good news with. He made his way to the backroom, where Enjolras was working in one corner, not even looking up when Grantaire entered, and Jehan, Joly and Bossuet were sharing a bottle of wine in the other, all of them giggling.

“Grantaire, sit down, have some wine,” Bossuet greeted him.

Jehan pulled him down on the bench, ruffling his hair. “Why are you looking so happy?”

“Pray tell, my friend,” Joly said dramatically and handed him a glass of wine.

“They sold one of my paintings,” Grantaire said, feeling like he was about to die of embarrassment when everyone around him erupted in cheers and Joly and Jehan tried to pull him into a hug at the same time. He ended up sandwiched between them, with a great view of Enjolras, who was rolling his eyes at them.

“That’s so exciting,” Jehan almost squealed, “you’re going to be really rich.”

“And famous,” Bossuet added and raised his glass to Grantaire.

“And then you’re going to become a drug addict,” Joly said cheerfully and hugged him even tighter.

Yeah, they’d definitely had too much wine, and he was very much inclined to have some more, too, but he didn’t miss the way Enjolras looked at him when he reached for the bottle.

Before their meeting started, Grantaire got himself a glass of water instead of more wine. Combeferre smiled at him warmly when he saw, and Grantaire felt himself reminded of a cold afternoon he’d spent huddled up in Combeferre’s bed a long time ago, talking about his bad habits rather than arguing about them the way he always did with Enjolras.

He’d told Combeferre that he didn’t see any point in changing, because he’d just fail anyway, he didn’t have any reason to try. Maybe now he did.

There was always the chance that he’d think differently tomorrow, when he didn’t feel light-hearted and happy anymore.

Much to his surprise, André called him the next day to tell him that he’d sold another one of his paintings.

A few days later, the friend of André’s father offered to put a few of his paintings on display at his own gallery in Rome.

* * *

“Why do you have this?” Grantaire asked, frowning down at the painting. He was pretty sure it was one of the first ones he’d ever sold.

Enjolras sat down next to him. “You didn’t give it to me?”

“No, I... this was one of the first ones I ever sold,” Grantaire said slowly, trying to make sense of this somehow.

“Oh, I must have bought it then.” Enjolras shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal. “You didn’t know?”

“I had no idea.” Enjolras had one of his paintings, one that he must have bought two years ago, and he hadn’t said a word to him about it. Grantaire had spent the better part of two years thinking Enjolras couldn’t care less about his work.

“I actually have another one, it’s still at my office, because it’s actually a lot bigger than this one.”

Grantaire took a deep breath to keep himself from hyperventilating. “What does that one look like?” he asked with as much calm as he could muster.

“It’s just a... forest scenery... thing?” Enjolras said slowly. “I can show you if you want.”

Grantaire swallowed hard and shook his head. He knew exactly which one Enjolras was talking about and he knew exactly how much that painting had sold for.

“Why wouldn’t I tell you about this?” Enjolras asked, when Grantaire remained silent.

“How the fuck would I know?” Grantaire thrust the painting back into Enjolras’ hands. “Sorry, I’m sorry, maybe I should go... I’ll just... bye.”

He really couldn’t deal with this right now, he’d probably never be able to deal with this, to be quite honest. There was too much about Enjolras he didn’t know, too many things they’d kept from each other and maybe one day there’d be a time to talk about all of this, but it definitely wasn’t now.

As soon as he got home he wrapped himself in a blanket and sent a text to Jehan, asking him to come over. Jehan did, brought pizza and a bottle of vodka.

The pizza was gone now, the bottle of vodka was unopened and forgotten somewhere in Grantaire’s kitchen, and Jehan was hugging Grantaire to his chest, patting his back and stroking his hair, even though Grantaire hadn’t even told him what was wrong yet, because there were too many things on his mind, because _everything_ was wrong, and because he was too busy to stop himself from just sobbing into Jehan’s shirt.

There was a knock on the door later on, which caused Grantaire to move for the first time in about an hour. “That might be Courfeyrac checking on us. He was a little worried that we might drown ourselves in vodka,” Jehan muttered, “do you want me to check?”

Another knock.

“Then again, it might not be Courfeyrac but Enjolras and I suppose that whatever problem you have has to do with him and that you probably don’t want to see him.” Jehan made him sit up, so he could look him in the eyes. “However,” he continued, “I’d strongly advise you to talk to him, so would you like me to check who’s at the door?”

Grantaire sighed. “Fine, go check.” He could always hope that it was Courfeyrac.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (first I wanted to do a chapter in Enjolras' pov, but then I thought I might need Grantaire's pov for the flashbacks) (I'm pretty sure I'll do one at some point, though)  
> (and maybe one day Grantaire will stop running away from his problems faster than Sonic the Hedgehog, who knows)


	13. Chapter 13

Obviously it wasn’t Courfeyrac, Grantaire really wasn’t that lucky.

Jehan suddenly remembered something extremely important he had to do, not leaving without bestowing Grantaire with a stern look. Grantaire couldn’t believe that Jehan would just abandon him like this, but now he was left with Enjolras awkwardly hovering next to the door, so it seemed like he actually had to talk to him now.

“Do you want to sit down?” he asked. Not drinking the vodka had been a mistake. Letting Jehan leave had been a mistake as well.

Enjolras reluctantly sat down on the sofa, his eyes never leaving Grantaire. He looked uncertain. Grantaire didn’t like that look oh him at all.

“Are _you_ going to sit down?” Enjolras asked when Grantaire had remained leaning against the front door after he’d closed it.

To be quite honest, Grantaire just wanted to run out the door and bring as much distance between them as possible, but that really wasn’t a viable option right now. He shook his head. “I suppose you want me to apologise for being an ass earlier?” His behaviour now seemed quite ridiculous to him, there was no reason to get all worked up about a stupid painting of his, and he probably shouldn’t have walked out on Enjolras like he had.

“Actually I wanted to apologise,” Enjolras said slowly.

Grantaire couldn’t help but to gape at him. “You wanted to...? Why?”

“Because I didn’t tell you about the paintings.” Enjolras wasn’t looking at him anymore, apparently Grantaire’s horribly dirty carpet was more interesting. “I mean, I thought you’d know about them, so I’m sorry for lying to you, even if I don’t remember lying to you, strictly speaking, but I obviously did.”

Now would be a good time to admit that he’d been lying, too, Grantaire noted, there wouldn’t be a better moment. Grantaire didn’t say a word.

“I wish I could explain why I didn’t tell you, I’m pretty sure I had a good reason.” Enjolras finally raised his head, waving his hands around helplessly. “I don’t know what else to say other than I’m really sorry.”

Grantaire nodded and finally sat down next to Enjolras. “It’s fine.” Really, it wasn’t fine at all, but as long as Enjolras didn’t remember there was no reason to argue about this.

Either Enjolras chose to ignore his disgruntled tone or he simply didn’t notice. “Maybe we should try to keep the drama and the fighting to a minimum,” he said lightly. “I mean, we managed not to for a couple of weeks, maybe we should give it another shot.”

Grantaire remained silent for a moment. It was pretty much a miracle that they hadn’t killed each other while he’d stayed at Enjolras'. Then again, Enjolras wasn’t quite himself.

They’d tried not to fight before. Unsurprisingly, it hadn’t worked out all too well.

* * *

**10 months earlier.**

“You need to leave,” Enjolras said firmly. He was leaning against the headboard of his bed, Grantaire’s head was resting against his chest, and he would have very much loved to stay right where he was, but obviously Enjolras had to spoil his fun. As always.

“I know, Enjolras, you say that every time. You’re busy, you have work to do, I understand.” He didn’t move an inch, though. If Enjolras really wanted him gone, he’d throw him out of bed if he had to, it wasn’t like that hadn’t happened before. He pressed a lazy kiss to Enjolras’ chest.

Enjolras’ hand disappeared from where it had been buried in Grantaire’s curls and he sat up a little straighter. “Good.”

“Do I need to leave _right now_?” Grantaire grumbled.

Enjolras sighed. “No,” he said. Grantaire smiled at the resigned tone in his voice. “But soon,” Enjolras added insistently.

Grantaire grinned and contemplated closing his eyes, because it would make the afternoon sun shining in through the windows so much more enjoyable, then again, the sight of Enjolras wasn’t bad either. His eyes fluttered shut eventually, even though he knew he shouldn’t get too comfortable.

“By the way,” Enjolras said, his fingers tracing the line of Grantaire’s neck, wandering back into his hair, “Combeferre wants me to apologise to you.”

It was fascinating how Enjolras managed to sound like a petulant child so effortlessly, but Grantaire deemed it wise not to comment on that. Instead he chuckled, his eyes still closed. “Because of last Wednesday?” They’d had a bit of a nasty fight, but Grantaire had gone out drinking with Joly and Bossuet afterwards and he’d forgotten all about it. Quite frankly, they’d had much worse fights.

“Yes,” Enjolras confirmed.

“Well?” Grantaire mumbled as he tilted his head so he could nuzzle at Enjolras’ jaw.

Enjolras sighed heavily. “It wasn’t even my fault.”

“Obviously not,” Grantaire drawled. To be honest, it hardly mattered to him whose fault it had been, because as long as their argument didn’t end in one of them storming out of the room, it really wasn’t that bad.

“No need to sound so condescending, I only said that-”

“Oh, shut it,” Grantaire said and pressed his fingers against Enjolras’ lips. “How long do you think we could go without fighting?” he mused.

Enjolras hummed and slowly let his hand wander down Grantaire’s back. “Does fighting include bickering?”

“I suppose it does.”

“Well, then we wouldn’t even make it through a week,” Enjolras said, his hand stilling on the small Grantaire’s back.

Grantaire shifted, trying to get Enjolras to continue his ministrations. “You think?”

“Well, we could try.”

“No fighting for a week?” Grantaire quite liked the idea, it would be nice for a change.

 “It would be a challenge, I suppose,” Enjolras mumbled. “Let’s try.”

“Okay,” Grantaire said, smiling against Enjolras’ skin.

“Fine.” Enjolras sounded pretty much like he always did when Grantaire told him that whatever he was planning on doing was impossible and was determined to prove him wrong. “Starting when?”

“Right now,” Grantaire suggested.

“That’s fine with me.”

“What if we don’t make it?”

“Then we’ve proven a point,” Enjolras said quietly.

 “So, before I go...” Grantaire whispered, thumbing over one of Enjolras’ nipples, his hand wandering lower and lower, before it dipped under the sheets tangled around Enjolras’ hips, fingers running over his hipbone, lingering there for a few seconds, then down his thigh and up again.

Enjolras remained very still. “I have a lot of work to do,” he said eventually.

“It’s Saturday afternoon.”

“That doesn’t change anything about the amount of-”

“Enjolras, you’re not going to start a fight about this, are you?” Grantaire asked innocently.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Obviously not,” he replied as he shifted so he could reach Grantaire’s neck, whispering against the skin there and making Grantaire shiver. “Combeferre will be so proud.”

Neither Combeferre nor any other of their friends ever found out about their little experiment, though. They didn’t even make it two days without a fight.

* * *

“Yeah, that’s not going to work,” Grantaire said quietly.

“Are you always this cynical?” Enjolras asked, his tone getting increasingly grumpy.

“I am,” Grantaire said cheerfully, wiggling his eyebrows at Enjolras. “How on earth did you miss that?” Sure, he’d tried to tone it down around Enjolras during the last couple of weeks, because the last thing Enjolras needed was Grantaire constantly behaving like the little shit that he was, but he was starting to get a bit tired of it.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Would it be possible for you to be serious for one second?”

Grantaire sighed. He’d heard that sentence in various variations from Enjolras and it had always been delightful to come up with new answers, he’d enjoyed watching an angry flush creep onto Enjolras’ cheeks, and the way his eyes narrowed just slightly, his undivided attention on Grantaire. But now he just wanted Enjolras out of this flat, he absolutely wasn’t in the mood for even more arguing.

“You know, I thought coming here would be a good idea because you wouldn’t be able to run away, but you refusing to talk to me is pretty much just as counterproductive.”

Grantaire was inclined to agree, it was just that he really didn’t know what to say anymore. He was frustrated and tired and he just wanted to go back to the way things were a month ago. Even though it had been far from perfect, but at least he’d known where he stood. “What do you want me to say?”

“You could tell me what’s wrong, for instance.” Enjolras leaned closer and Grantaire had to resist the urge to jump up to get some space between them. “We used to get along so well, I don’t understand why things between us are suddenly so complicated.”

Grantaire almost laughed. “Enjolras, that’s what things between us are like, it’s never not been complicated, okay?”

“Right, would you care to explain why? I feel like I’m missing something really obvious, so would you please just tell me? Did I do something wrong?”

“No, you didn’t...” Grantaire roughly tugged his fingers through his hair, trying to somehow get a grip on his thoughts. “Honestly, I tried so hard to somehow make this work, I really tried, but it’s not.” He was aware that he was just babbling now, that Enjolras couldn’t make sense of any of this, but he just needed to get it out.

Enjolras frowned. “Grantaire, what are you talking about?”

 _Oh, fuck it._ “I’m talking about you and me, and about us being friends, I really wanted it to work, I really wanted to be your friend, but turns out...” He saw something in Enjolras’ expression change, maybe he realised now, maybe he finally understood that to Grantaire he’d always been so much more than just a friend. Grantaire couldn’t care less. Maybe it was a good thing to finally say it out loud. “Well, I guess I can’t just be your friend, Enjolras. And I’m really sorry and none of this is your fault. I’m the one who’s to blame here and I know I’m ruining everything right now, but-”

He didn’t get much further, though, because Enjolras’ lips were now on his, kissing him very, very gently, one hand cupping his cheek, the other one settled on his thigh. Grantaire briefly wondered if they’d ever shared a kiss like this one before, one that wasn’t rough or needy or desperate, but almost loving.

It physically pained him when he pushed Enjolras away. “Enjolras, no, no, no... this isn’t...” This would just make things even more complicated than they already were. Enjolras wouldn’t love him, he wouldn’t come home to him after a long day at work and curl up next to him in their bed, he wouldn’t let Grantaire take him out for dinner and he wouldn’t let him cook breakfast in the morning, he wouldn’t let him steal a kiss before he left for work in the morning. Because at some point soon he’d get his memories back and then he’d remember how he really felt about Grantaire.

The hurt in Enjolras’ eyes was almost heartbreaking. “I thought you meant...” Enjolras bit his lip. “You said you didn’t want to be just friends, I thought... never mind.” He withdrew, his eyes back on the carpet. “I was wrong,” he said quietly, “let’s just forget this happened, okay?”

 “No, you were right, it’s just... you don’t want this.”

“Oh, so you know what I want and I don’t, is that it?”

“Yeah, Enjolras, you don’t remember how much you actually dislike me, but I sure do. So just believe me when I tell you. You do not want this.”

Enjolras stared at him, his eyes wide, his lips slightly parted, disbelief written all over his face. “I don’t _dislike_ you.”

Grantaire huffed. He couldn’t think of a good answer, so he stared at the empty mug on his coffee table and the stack of books right next to it and the sketch he’d meant to finish for nearly a week now.

“I don’t,” Enjolras repeated. “Why would I? We were friends right, we were... I have your paintings, why would I have them if I hated you and the photo on my fridge and you’re... I’m...” He shrugged helplessly. “Why would you think that?”

Grantaire still didn’t answer. He kept getting chances to tell him, he never took them, like the coward he was.

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” Enjolras said quietly. “What is it? What did I do?”

Once again, Grantaire remained silent. He couldn’t tell him. He didn’t even know where to begin, there was no good way of dealing with this, he’d gone over the words he could say so many times, and they all seemed utterly meaningless right now.

“Combeferre said I wasn’t exactly nice to you at times, I guess I can be a huge dick, I should probably apologise for that, too, it’s not like I-”

“Enjolras, just stop. It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” Grantaire said angrily.

“It’s clearly not _fine_.” Enjolras’ fingers curled around his upper arm. “Please, will you look at me?”

Grantaire did, but unwillingly so. “Just go home. Let’s pretend this never happened, as you said, let’s not make this about my feeling for you, okay? Or about whatever feelings you think you have for me. You don’t owe me anything and I know that.”

“Stop telling me how I feel about you like you know everything about me. I mean, does it matter how I _used_ to feel about you? I don’t even remember any of that.”

 _Yes_ , Grantaire wanted to say, _it does matter_. He didn’t, though, because there was a more pressing issue at hand. He wanted to hear this. “And how do you feel about me now?”

Enjolras took a deep breath. “I like you.”

Grantaire had to try very hard to suppress a hysterical giggle. “Well, that’s... nice.”

Enjolras’ hand moved to take Grantaire’s. “A lot. I like you a lot. And I think about you... a lot.”

Maybe he shouldn’t have asked after all. This couldn’t be happening. Enjolras couldn’t like him, not like this, not when there were so many thing between them that had gone unsaid, not when Enjolras didn’t remember their past. Their past was important and Grantaire needed answers and Enjolras couldn’t give them to him, at least not right now.  And obviously Enjolras would quite possibly soon realise that Grantaire had been lying to him for the last couple of weeks and that surely wouldn’t end well for him.

“You’re being awfully quiet, that’s probably not a good sign,” Enjolras mumbled. His grip on Grantaire’s hand tightened as if he was scared that he’d run away. “Say something. Please.”

“This isn’t a good idea,” Grantaire said eventually. Enjolras had said exactly what he’d wanted to hear all this time, but this wasn’t _his_ Enjolras.

“Right, I understand,” Enjolras got up swiftly. “I’ll leave you alone now.”

Grantaire, slightly taken aback by the sudden change in Enjolras’ attitude, scrambled to his feet as well, once again lost for words. He only stared dumbly as Enjolras made his way to the door. Words were burning on the tip of his tongue, about to say whatever it took to make him stay, to take back what he’d said and to make this right.

He opened his mouth to say something, but no sound came out.

After Enjolras had left, Grantaire stared at the door for what seemed like an eternity. He suddenly felt even worse about all the times he’d just walked out on Enjolras.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realise this didn't really make things better. (I also realise this isn't from Enjolras' pov AGAIN, but the next one will be, I promise.)  
> And thank you so, so much for all of your comments, I didn't have time to answer them, because a lot of stuff came up at uni, but I truly appreciate all of them, you're all so sweet!


	14. Chapter 14

Enjolras was slowly walking away from Grantaire’s flat, unsure where to go, trying his best not to think. Thinking, he’d realised, only made things worse.

There had been too many things on his mind during the last couple of weeks, even though they’d been the _only_ things on his mind, because he’d conveniently managed to forget everything else. It was strange enough to wake up not knowing where you were, terrifying, in fact, but even more so when you realised that you also didn’t know _who_ you were.

Enjolras hadn’t known his own name, had known he had one, must have one, because everyone had a name, but as much as he tried, he couldn’t say it, he couldn’t form the word. Enjolras, they’d told him, that was his name. He didn’t have a good relationship with his parents, was a lawyer and obviously had very, very good friends.

Friends who were worried about him and were here to see him.

Combeferre had come to talk to him first, had explained the situation, slowly and carefully, and had answered his questions with a patience that had been both impressive and unsettling.

Everything had been so new and so strange; it had felt like the first day of his life.

* * *

**Almost two months ago.**

Enjolras tried to make sense of all the things this stranger was telling him. Because that’s what he was, a complete stranger who claimed to be his friend. It wasn’t that Enjolras didn’t believe him, it just all seemed incredibly ridiculous. There was talk of car accidents, bone fractures and memory loss, and he began to understand.

Should they call his parents? The guy perched at the end of his bed, Combeferre, shook his head. “You wouldn’t want them to know,” he said quietly.

Anyone else they should call? Enjolras looked to Combeferre again, because he simply didn’t know. He shook his head again and told him that everyone who needed to know had already been told, and that some of his friends were down in the waiting room, waiting for news, wanting to see him.

His friends. Enjolras tried to remember them, tried to recall their faces, their voices, what they liked, but his mind was completely blank. He took a deep breath, trying to somehow subdue the panic that was slowly rising in his chest.

Combeferre’s hand lightly curled around his arm, the one that wasn’t wrapped in a cast, and squeezed it gently. “We’re going to figure this out, I promise,” he said, smiling encouragingly. “You’re not alone.”

Enjolras decided that he liked Combeferre. Well, he obviously did, because they were friends, then again, to him it felt like they’d just met. He felt like he should thank him, but in the end Enjolras only nodded, not sure what to say.

“Would you mind talking to the others? Only for a minute or two?” Combeferre asked then. “They’re all terribly worried, but if you think it might be too much, I’ll tell them to come back later. You decide.”

Enjolras thought about it for a second. “They know that I don’t remember them, right?”

“Yes, they know,” Combeferre confirmed. “It’s just a few of them, really, one of them is one of the guys you work with, actually.”

“Right, sure, you can go get them.” He’d have to meet them all at some point anyway, so he might as well get it over with right now. It was going to be awkward, no doubt, but he’d rather talk to them, because, who knew, it might help him remember.

They came filing in one by one and sadly none of them seemed familiar in the slightest, but Enjolras’ eyes immediately fell on the last of them coming in through the door. He seemed to be trying to hide behind the tall, muscular guy, who was apparently the only one in the room who didn’t feel completely awkward and out of place. The other two to his left were still wearing pyjamas and Enjolras realised that they must have been waiting all night. Just because of him.

His gaze flickered back to the curly-haired guy on the right, though. Combeferre said something to him and he nodded, before he finally looked at Enjolras. His eyes were strikingly blue, red-rimmed and tired, but Enjolras thought they were absolutely stunning.

Enjolras realised he’d been staring, so he smiled a little uncertainly. “Hello,” he said eventually.

* * *

Enjolras sat down at a random bus stop, not even checking if it was the right line. He didn’t feel like going home just yet anyway.

He knew that he wasn’t going to solve all of his issues in one day, but he could at least try to find a solution. The problem was that he hadn’t meant to fall in love with Grantaire. It had just happened to him and there was nothing at all he was able to do about it. He didn’t really want to do anything about it, for that matter. It was a nice feeling, but excruciating at the same time.

Having him around all the time hadn’t been helpful. Grantaire was caring and funny and when he’d moved back to his own apartment, Enjolras had felt like one of his vital organs was missing. That was when he’d first noticed.

Grantaire wasn’t particularly talkative when Enjolras asked him to tell him something about himself. It was almost like he thought Enjolras wouldn’t be interested anyway. He’d always had a feeling that there were things Grantaire wanted to keep to himself, which also included the story of how they’d met, since Grantaire always brushed it off like it wasn’t a big deal. Enjolras kept asking him; Grantaire kept saying it wasn’t a story worth telling.

Well, as it turned out, that had been a blatant lie.

When he’d found out, his first thought had been that he might actually have a chance with Grantaire, as stupid as it was, which had been followed by a wave of annoyance and disappointment. The reason that Grantaire hadn’t told him must have been because he didn’t want Enjolras to get the wrong impression. Grantaire had withdrawn from him more and more, and Enjolras had started to think that maybe they were better off as friends after all.

It was only today that he’d realised that Grantaire actually had feelings for him. That he’d had feelings for him even before the accident. Enjolras could only guess why Grantaire never told him.

Anyway, it wasn’t that easy. He realised that he couldn’t expect Grantaire to act on his feelings like Enjolras had, he needed to accept that, and he would. But he hadn’t been able to stick around and look Grantaire in the eyes, not after all the things that he’d said. He’d needed fresh hair; he’d needed to clear his head.

His head didn’t feel much clearer, though.

Three buses came and went and Enjolras never got on. He thought about going to Combeferre’s, because he’d surely be able to help, as always, but he knew Combeferre well enough by now to know that he’d tell him that he needed to figure this out for himself. Enjolras just didn’t know how.

He needed his memories back, for once. He’d remembered one thing, so everything else should come back to him soon enough. Or at least he hoped so. There were other fragments, of course, but he could never tell whether they were real or just a trick of his imagination, things he’d made up about his past, just because he didn’t really have one right now.

Enjolras got on the fourth bus and went back home. It had been a mistake to go talk to Grantaire this soon, he realised that now. He’d give him time.

* * *

The next day at work Enjolras overheard Courfeyrac and Marius arguing about a case. He presented them with a solution without even thinking about it. He pointed them at the relevant articles and told them about a precedent he’d read about a couple of months ago.

He didn’t even realise until he saw his two colleagues gaping at him.

He remembered birthdates, his parents’ phone number, the password for his laptop. He wanted to tell Grantaire. Not only because now would probably be a good time to give back Grantaire’s macbook.

He had his cast taken off, had a chat with Joly and Musichetta afterwards, joking about one of their first protests that had gone so horribly wrong because no one had shown up, and when he walked into the Musain that evening to have coffee with Combeferre and was suddenly all too aware of all the other times he’d done so.

He never called Grantaire.

He never went by his flat. Although he was tempted.

One morning Enjolras woke up and he knew. He knew that the hoodie he’d been wearing all this time actually wasn’t his own, he knew why he owned those paintings, and most importantly, Enjolras knew what exactly it was that Grantaire hadn’t told him all these weeks.

* * *

**About 19 months earlier. Maybe a little longer.**

Enjolras didn’t know how to do this. First of all, it was really hard to catch Grantaire on his own. Second of all, it was really hard to have a normal conversation with him. Well, his request was actually verging on extremely strange, but he wasn’t too worried about that at the moment.

He watched Grantaire during the meeting, snuck glances at him every now and then. Grantaire was in his usual spot, Joly and Bossuet to his left, and Jehan to his right, whispering something to him that made him smile. He never smiled like that when he talked to Enjolras, but he wasn’t particularly concerned because of that. It wasn’t how they worked. They were friends, obviously, at least Enjolras considered Grantaire to be his friend, not exactly a reliable or particularly close one, but a friend all the same.

Enjolras talked to Combeferre and Courfeyrac for a while after they’d ended the meeting, but eventually Courfeyrac was dragged off by Jehan and Combeferre got up to leave as well.

“I’ll just... go over this again,” Enjolras mumbled, vaguely gesturing at the sheets of paper in front of him. “See you on Friday.”

Combeferre nodded and slowly pulled on his jacket. Enjolras could tell that he knew that something was off and Enjolras greatly appreciated that he didn’t say anything. When Combeferre had left, Enjolras and Grantaire were the only ones left in the backroom.

“Not leaving yet?” Enjolras asked Grantaire, who was nursing a bottle of beer, and started collecting sheets of paper from around the table.

Grantaire downright glared at him. “I’ve been working for three days straight and by that I mean even at night, I really need a fucking break, stop judging me.”

“I’m not judging you.” Why would he, he knew how hard Grantaire was working. Even though he wished Grantaire wouldn’t try to compensate his lack of sleep with alcohol. Enjolras slowly moved to sit down next to him. “We’ve known each other for years and you still think... never mind.” This wasn’t what he wanted to talk about.

Somehow he still didn’t quite know where to start. He’d played out this conversation in his mind about a thousand times and he had no idea why this was so hard. It was a simple question. Just one that he usually wouldn’t ask. He really needed to relax. Enjolras shook his head, took Grantaire’s beer and took a swig. It tasted horrible. He took another swig anyway.

Enjolras took a deep breath and turned to Grantaire. “Do you remember how we met?”

Grantaire actually had the audacity to laugh. God, this had been a horrible idea. “Of course,” Grantaire said eventually, still smiling at him.

So far so good. Back then they’d clearly deemed each other attractive, and although Enjolras was pretty sure that Grantaire had never actually had feelings for him – because, well, he only needed to spend five minutes with him and they’d yell at each other from two different corners of the room – but Grantaire must have liked something about him. “Listen,” Enjolras said, looking down at the bottle, not sure if he could end this sentence if he was looking at Grantaire, “I still have a lot of work to do today, but... do you want to come to my place for a bit?”

Grantaire remained silent for a long while. “What?” he asked then. His voice sounded hoarse.

“You heard me,” Enjolras said. He still couldn’t look at him. Once again, he felt like cursing his horrible social skills. He was pretty sure that other people didn’t get so stressed about finding someone to sleep with. It wasn’t like he usually had problems finding someone to take home, but the execution of it all was always a little too awkward and he always felt a little too uncomfortable, so he’d thought that maybe he should try to ask someone he could trust for a favour.

Grantaire got up so quickly, he nearly knocked over his chair. “Sure, okay.”

Enjolras took Grantaire back to his flat. They didn’t speak a single word on the way to his place, but he didn’t feel like had to say anything, Grantaire seemed to be content just like this.

He kissed Grantaire before they’d set a foot inside his building, and okay, this had been a fantastic idea after all. Grantaire’s lips were eager and his hands were gripping Enjolras by his hip insistently, drawing him closer.

Enjolras actually had trouble fitting his key into the lock, because Grantaire was so damn distracting. He could feel Grantaire’s teeth grazing his neck and Enjolras only then remembered that he had a court date the next morning and probably shouldn’t show up with bite marks all over his neck. 

Grantaire went willingly when Enjolras led him to his bedroom. He let him have whatever he wanted, and there was nothing gentle about this, it wasn’t loving, it was wild. The way Grantaire’s blunt nails raked down his back nearly drove him insane, the way he moaned sent shivers down his spine, and he was pretty certain that he’d never seen anything as beautiful as Grantaire writhing beneath him, his head thrown back against his pillow, curses and pleads spilling from his mouth.

Grantaire didn’t leave right away, which wasn’t exactly what Enjolras had expected, because Grantaire seemed like the type to immediately jump out of bed, pull his clothes back on, and say _thanks for the nice time and goodbye_ , but maybe this was different because they weren’t strangers who’d met somewhere in a dingy bar.

Enjolras couldn’t say he minded the way Grantaire’s leg was hooked around his, or the fingers slowly stroking his hair and the arm wrapped around his waist, he didn’t mind the kisses Grantaire pressed to his forehead and the content hum from Grantaire when Enjolras returned the gesture.

He could get used to this. Which he really shouldn’t.

Enjolras carefully sat up. “Grantaire,” he mumbled, mapping out the expanse of Grantaire’s back with his fingertips. “I have work to do.” It wasn’t the best of excuses, but it would have to do. He really should go through his notes for the next day again.

Grantaire made an entirely too displeased noise. Enjolras almost asked him to stay. “Sure, sorry, I’m leaving,” Grantaire muttered and slipped out of bed, collecting his clothes.

“Let’s not mention this to the others, okay?” Enjolras said, watching him move about the room.

Grantaire looked up, an expression Enjolras couldn’t quite read on his face. “Fine, I won’t tell anyone.”

It somehow made Enjolras feel like he needed to explain. “You know what they’re like.” Courfeyrac would never let this go and remind them of it at any given opportunity.

Grantaire seemed to have come to a similar conclusion. “Yeah, I do.”

“Thanks,” Enjolras mumbled and got up to kiss Grantaire one last time before he sent him on his way.

Enjolras waited for Grantaire again after their next meeting. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but maybe Grantaire would come home with him again.

He did.

* * *

Enjolras was still sitting in his bed, staring at the wall, trying to figure out what to do. What he needed to do was shower, have breakfast, put on one of his suits and go to work. He probably also had to call a doctor, then again, he was basically cured, so maybe it was enough to run by Joly’s later on. What he wanted to do was talk to Grantaire.

He felt like his brain was going to explode if he didn’t get to explain himself right this instant.

Enjolras reached for his phone and called Courfeyrac, who answered his phone with something that sounded like a growl.

“Courf?” Enjolras asked, not sure if his friend was even awake.

“What on earth made you think that calling me this early was a good idea?” Courfeyrac groaned, and Enjolras was pretty sure he could hear Jehan giggle in the background.

“I just wanted to tell you that I can’t come to work today,” Enjolras said, his tone a lot calmer than he felt.

“What? Why? Is everything alright? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Enjolras quickly assured him. “I just... I remember.”

Courfeyrac made a surprised sound. “Everything?”

“Pretty much,” Enjolras said. “I can’t really recall the accident, but... listen, I have to go talk to Grantaire.”

“I see,” Courfeyrac muttered. “Well, good luck with that. Be nice.”

“Of course I’ll be nice,” Enjolras snapped.

“Yeah, of course.” Courfeyrac did nothing to hide the amusement in his voice. “Let me know how it went later on, okay?”

“Sure, I will.” Enjolras hung up and finally dragged himself out of bed.

He bought donuts on his way to Grantaire’s, because knowing him, Grantaire probably would still be asleep, even though it was almost ten by the time Enjolras arrived at his flat.

He wasn’t prepared for this, not in the slightest, but maybe that was for the best. He’d just tell him the truth.

It took a lot of knocking to get Grantaire to come to the door. At some point Enjolras could hear him curse.

“I know you’re there,” Enjolras called through the door.

There was more cursing, then Grantaire yanked the door open. He didn’t look too happy to see him. But going by how tired and hungover he looked, he probably wouldn’t be happy to see anyone. “It’s too early for this,” Grantaire sighed, resting his head against the frame of the door.

Enjolras wordlessly held out the bag of donuts he’d brought.

“Peace offering?” Grantaire asked, eyebrows raised, and took the bag from him.

“Something like that,” Enjolras mumbled. He didn’t quite know where to start, so he also handed Grantaire the black hoodie he’d been holding hostage the last couple of months. He hated to part with it, but he couldn’t think of a better thing to start the conversation with.

Grantaire took it, stared at it for what seemed like an eternity, then he looked up, his eyes wide. “You remembered,” he whispered hoarsely.

Enjolras bit his lip. “Why did you lie?”

Grantaire’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you think?”

“I honestly have no idea,” Enjolras said quietly. He didn’t want to have this conversation here in the doorway, but maybe he should consider himself lucky that Grantaire had opened the door at all. “Do you mind if I come in?” he asked, a little scared that Grantaire might just slam the door in his face.

Grantaire only took a few steps back, though, so Enjolras followed him inside and closed the door.

“Well,” Grantaire started, eyes fixed to a point somewhere left to Enjolras’ head, “I didn’t know how to tell you, I didn’t know to explain what was going on between us and the longer I didn’t say anything...” Grantaire shrugged helplessly. “I feel stupid.”

“That makes two of us,” Enjolras mumbled.

Grantaire’s lips twitched, but he wasn’t smiling just yet. “What now?”

Enjolras took a deep breath. “Now I’ll tell you about the paintings.” He knew it wasn’t exactly an answer to the question Grantaire had been asking, but there were things he desperately needed to say before he lost all his courage.

Grantaire, at least, seemed somewhat satisfied with that, put down the paper bag he’d taken from Enjolras, and perched himself on the arm rest of his sofa, hugging the black hoodie to his chest.

“Right,” Enjolras muttered, not sure if he should stay where he was or go sit next to Grantaire. He decided to remain standing. “Well, so I heard you tell Joly and Bossuet about your paintings, and Courfeyrac told me that he’d been to the gallery with Jehan, and everyone was so excited and you’d never let me see any of your art... so I figured I could just go look at it myself. And one of the guys there asked me if I wanted to buy one... and I said yes, because, Grantaire, you’re so talented, and that’s why I have the other one, too. I mean, you know that I don’t know anything about art, but you’re good, even I can see that.”

Grantaire frowned. “But why didn’t you tell me?”

“You would have thought that I bought them out of pity,” Enjolras said immediately. Grantaire was about to protest, but Enjolras didn’t let him. “Don’t say that isn’t exactly what you would have thought. I know you.”

Grantaire sullenly chewed on his bottom lip. “Well, I suppose you do have a point,” he said slowly. “But, you know, you could have just asked, I would have given them to you for free.” He was smiling now and Enjolras counted it as a small victory. “Anyway,” Grantaire added, serious again, “I’m glad we cleared that up.”

“You’re not angry?” Enjolras asked hopefully.

Grantaire looked at him intently for an excruciatingly long time, then he shrugged. “You had your reasons. If there’s anyone who understands, it’s me.”

“I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me about us,” Enjolras mumbled. He’d spend nearly two months thinking that they were friends, when they’d actually been so much more than that.

“Well, I _am_ sorry.”

Enjolras finally sat down on the sofa and resisted the urge to just pull Grantaire into his lap. Grantaire eventually followed his example and sat down next to him.

“And what now?” Grantaire asked again.

Maybe Enjolras should just ask him if they could go back to the way things had been before his accident. Then again, he felt like he owed Grantaire the truth, and maybe now that Enjolras remembered, Grantaire would see things differently. Enjolras would have never guessed that Grantaire actually had feelings for him and now that he knew, it seemed to be all he could think about.

“There’s something else I need to tell you,” Enjolras said and sighed quietly. He could just reach out and touch Grantaire, or kiss him, but now was not the time.  

“Why do I feel like I’m not going to like this?” Grantaire mumbled jokingly. “If this is about what you said, though,” he added quickly, “about me and you and all that... we can just forget about that.”

“No,” Enjolras said resolutely. “No, that’s not what I meant.” He heard Grantaire breathe in sharply next to him, but didn’t look over. He’d tried to say this before, and he’d failed miserably. “Remember when I wanted to talk to you a couple of months ago?”

Grantaire chuckled. “You mean that night when you nearly fell asleep on me?”

“Yeah, that’s not the point, though. I wanted to talk to you.”

“And then you said it wasn’t important.”

“Right, that’s what I said,” Enjolras confirmed. “Anyway, I meant to ask you... how you would feel about...” He cleared his throat. “Well, if we started seeing each other... for real, not like we did. Like... go on actual dates and all that.”

“You... what?” Grantaire sounded positively shocked, which was why Enjolras immediately came to regret the decision to tell him.

“I just... I know I work a lot and I’d be a horrible boyfriend, but if you just gave me a chance, I’d-”

“You wanted that _months ago_?” Grantaire interrupted, incredulous. “You should have said something.”

Enjolras had tried, but he’d changed his mind every single time. He wasn’t good at relationships or talking about his feelings. It was all too messy for him, it made him feel like he wasn’t a rational human being anymore. “Well, I didn’t think you’d want to,” he said eventually.

“ _Enjolras_ ,” Grantaire whined. It sounded like Enjolras was missing something really, really obvious.

“What?” he asked, starting to feel a little frustrated.

Grantaire groaned. “I’ve been in love with you for years, whatever made you think I wouldn’t _want to_?”

Enjolras wasn’t quite sure how to make sense of that. _Years_ , Grantaire had said. Enjolras couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been really oblivious or if Grantaire was just really good at hiding his feelings. “But you never... I don’t know, you always left straight after and I just thought you weren’t interested.”

“You always _made_ me leave straight after,” Grantaire retorted.

He did have a point. “I realise that probably wasn’t the best course of action,” Enjolras had to admit. “I just didn’t want to get used to having you there.”

Grantaire actually snorted at that. “You’re impossible.”

“So are you,” Enjolras grumbled.

“At least there’s one thing we have in common.”

Enjolras sighed.

“You said you liked me,” Grantaire said when Enjolras remained silent. “The other day. You said you liked me.”

“I do. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, did you listen to a word I said?”

“No, but... last Sunday, you didn’t remember then, did you?”

“Oh.” Enjolras fiddled with the hem of his shirt. “No, I didn’t.”

“So, why...” Grantaire trailed off and shrugged.

Enjolras didn’t have a good explanation. “I sort of... fell in love with you, I suppose. Or maybe I knew that I already had. You know, before?”

“This is...” Grantaire ended up waving his hands around helplessly.

Enjolras wished he could tell what he was thinking, but mind-reading was an ability he had yet to acquire.

“And what now?” Grantaire asked for the third time.

Enjolras took a deep breath. “Are you free this Saturday?”

“Are you serious?”

“I always am.”

Grantaire sighed and pulled him into a kiss.

* * *

**4 months later.**

Enjolras grinned when Grantaire nuzzled at his neck and mumbled something with a sleepy voice. “What was that?”

“Cold,” Grantaire whispered and snuggled closer. His breath against Enjolras’ neck made him shiver a little as well.

Enjolras hummed and grabbed the sheets to tug them around the two of them. Grantaire made a pleased noise and stayed exactly where he was, with his limbs wrapped around Enjolras, humming a song Enjolras didn’t recognise. He was glad that he didn’t have to ask Grantaire to stay anymore, he just did, as if he belonged here. Which he did.

And Enjolras really wasn’t going to complain, because he liked having Grantaire here, but there was a case file sitting on his bedside table that he needed to go through, and he was pretty sure that he also had a couple of emails in his inbox that shouldn’t go unanswered.

Grantaire had come by their office to bring Enjolras something to eat and Enjolras had taken him home afterwards, even though he hadn’t been done with work. Usually it took a lot of effort for Grantaire to distract him, but today it had been remarkably easy.

Enjolras waited until he could hear Grantaire snore softly before he gently pushed him off his chest and onto a pillow, delighted that he’d managed not to wake him up. He wasted a couple of minutes staring at Grantaire, then he took his case file and started reading.

“I see I’ve been replaced,” Grantaire mumbled after a while.

Enjolras hadn’t even realised he’d woken up. He reached over to ruffle Grantaire’s hair, never taking his eyes from his work, though.

“How much longer until you’re done?”

“Give me half an hour,” Enjolras said, his fingers still curled in Grantaire’s hair.

Grantaire remained still for a couple of minutes, then moved to fetch his sketchbook from where he’d left it a couple of days ago. Enjolras watched him out of the corner of his eye, waiting.

Grantaire slipped back into bed, opened it and made a surprised noise. “What’s this?” he asked, holding up the key Enjolras had left in there.

Enjolras smiled. “A key.”

“To your heart?” Grantaire asked, grinning smugly.

“To my flat, actually.”

Grantaire hummed. “And how long has that been in there?”

“A couple of days.” Three days, to be exact. And Enjolras had been waiting for Grantaire to find it most anxiously.

“So it wasn’t in there by accident?” Grantaire asked now, his smile growing wider.

“No, it wasn’t,” Enjolras confirmed.

“You want me to have this.”

“I do.” He leaned over to give Grantaire a kiss.

He never actually managed to get back to his work, because he didn’t have the heart to push Grantaire away. The file in his lap slid to the floor, and for once he couldn’t even bring himself to care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote this about three times, I hope it turned out okay.  
> As always, thank you so much for reading and your lovely comments and the kudos!


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